Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "goblin"

Most goblins were a little mad, a touch off in the head, but Yips was in a category all his own. The red skinned goblin let his orange hair grow long and wild, and wore nothing except damaged trousers. People who met him could see in his eyes that the goblin had a screw loose with that maniacal grin and the way he stared.

The town of Radcliff had long ago (and reluctantly) accepted Yips’ shortcomings. They’d tried evicting him many times, and on several occasions men had attacked him. Both ended badly, and afterwards town leaders had offered a truce of sorts. Yips would stay at the outskirts of town and no one would bother him. On good days Yips remembered his end of the deal.

Today was not a good day.

“Tortoise races,” Yips muttered as he scampered through the alleys of Radcliff. “I could arrange tortoise races and take bets. Everyone would get bored and wander off before the races ended, and I could keep the wagers. It’s brilliant! I need to find which bars tortoises hang out in and hire them.”

Radcliff was a logging town that sent timber down the Not At All Magnificent Rolling River to Sunset City, and was totally without tortoises. It also lacked dragons, llamas, cheetahs and cantaloupes. This was a problem because most of Yips’ plans involved one or more of these things. As a result most of his plans failed utterly, although there was some excitement when he’d invited the dragon Scald to settle in Radcliff. That had been three years ago, and not only had town leaders been unable to get rid of the dragon in that time, but Scald was also way behind in her rent.

Yips dug through a pile of garbage in search of valuables. His hypothetical tortoise helpers would no doubt demand pay upfront. He came up with a moldy apple and chicken bones, which he ate. He was halfway through his revolting meal when a rare glimpse of common sense got through Yips’ mind.

“Wait, I haven’t seen a single tortoise in Radcliff, and I’d need two to have a race. No, no, I need someone else to help me. Hmm, who could help?”

He snapped is fingers and smiled. “Aardvarks! That’s perfect!”

Yips ran off into the night, babbling to himself as he went. “Aardvarks would be much better. They dig tunnels, and once they were underground there’d be no way for people to tell whether they’re even going in the right direction, or going anywhere at all. I could still keep the bets, and I’m sure aardvarks work cheaper than tortoises.”

It was looking very much like tonight would go like most of Yips’ nights. He would run himself ragged looking for animals, plants, things or people who were nowhere near the dingy city, assuming they existed at all. By morning he’d forget whatever had driven him and find a new obsession, and then another after that. The people of Radcliff had decided Yips was mostly harmless, and most of the time they were right.

This night was different. Yips heard men whispering not far from him. That was odd, as it was so late that few men were out besides criminals. Yips smiled and followed the sound to its source. Maybe they knew where he could find aardvarks.

He found the men and was instantly disappointed. There were four of them dressed in black and armed with short swords, clubs or daggers. Yips nearly wrote them off as thieves when he saw they all wore gold amulets around their necks. The amulets showed a pair of open blue eyes, with lapis for the coloring. That was unusual. Even stranger, one man carried a bundle of papers and wood bucket.

“The town watch won’t come through here again for an hour,” one of them said.

A second man shook his head. “That’s not enough time. They’ll see the flier and tear it down before the people can read it. We’ll have to put it up at the edge of the alleys so he won’t see them right away. Morning’s light will make them easily seen.”

“What about your magic inscriptions?” asked the first. “The guards can’t tear them down.”

“But they can paint over them. I haven’t found a way around that yet.”

“It takes a lot out of him to do that,” added a third man. “He’ll be useless for days if he puts up too many magic versions of the papers.”

Annoyed, the second man snapped, “I’m doing the best I can.”

Yips snuck in closer as the men took out a brush and slathered paste from the bucket onto a section of wall. They pressed a sheet of paper onto the paste and smoothed it out, then stepped back to study their work. The flier was covered in flowery writing in blue ink, and started with the words ‘no secrets’.

“It’s not enough,” the first one complained. “We’re only reaching a few towns this way, and only those people who can read. What good is it to reveal the truth to the masses when they don’t hear it?”

The second man pressed a finger against the chest of the first. “We are not doing public speeches. The risk is too great and our movement is too small to take losses. If the authorities took one of us alive they could force him to talk. This isn’t perfect by a long shot, but we have to be careful or our message won’t be the only thing to die.”

Yips was as silent as an owl as he slipped in close to the flier. It was astounding that someone with such a poor grip on reality could read, but Yips was a walking contradiction. There was just enough light for him to read it. The flier had a good start by proclaiming leaders were keeping the truth from their people, but from there it went downhill fast. The Coral Ring merchant guild was trying to import sweet bark trees? Some rinky-dink king wanted to hire ogre mercenaries? That was boring!

“The message will spread!” the second man insisted. “Men will read it and tell others.”

The fourth man spoke for the first time. “If you keep making so much noise you’ll bring the town watch down on us.”

The others looked down, one offering a weak, “Sorry.”

“Bloody idiots,” the fourth man muttered. “Wait, where’s the flier? It’s gone.”

The men panicked when they saw he was right. The flier they’d just posted on the wall had been stolen while they were standing right next to it. They hadn’t seen it disappear, not surprising since they’d been arguing. It took them a few seconds to see Yips sitting a short distance away studying the flier. He turned it sideways and then upside down until he gave up and ate it.

“That was for your own good,” Yips told them. He pointed an accusing finger at them and scolded, “You should be ashamed. That was so boring I thought I’d fall asleep before finishing it.”

The fourth man sighed in relief. “Praise all above, it’s just a goblin.”

“Who ate our flier!” the second shouted. “You’re suppressing the truth!”

“No one was going to read that!” Yips yelled back. “There’s no entertainment value in that hog slop. You need aardvarks and tortoises and cheetahs. Say the Coral Ring is run by aardvarks and importing cheetahs. Then people will read it.”

The first man stomped his foot. “That’s not the truth!”

“Be quiet,” the fourth man said. He tried to grab the first one by the shoulders, but the angry man shook him off.

“It’s an abomination is what it is,” Yips said. He stood up and marched over to the furious man. Pointing at the remaining fliers, he told them, “That is dull and tiresome and not at all what graffiti is supposed to be. You should be ashamed! Good penmanship, though, but no aardvarks.”

“Enough,” the first man said. “We’re wasting time. Spread out and post the fliers before dawn. We can get the other towns here before the week’s over.”

The fourth man finally lost his composure. “What exactly is wrong with you? You just detailed our plans in front of a witness. This is supposed to be a secret society, secret as in don’t talk about it!”

“He said it in front of a goblin,” the third man said. “I don’t think the little pest is going to even remember this in the morning, and no one will believe him if he talks.”

“Aardvarks!” Yips yelled. He slipped between the bickering men and grabbed the remaining fliers, then ran off, screaming, “You’re not getting these back until there are aardvarks in them!”

The four men chased after him, the second one screaming, “Get back here with those fliers! They’re expensive!”

Yips ran through the town, the fliers clutched to his chest. In theory the chase should have been short and ended badly for the goblin, but he knew these streets and the men didn’t. That meant he knew where every pothole was, every slippery patch, every narrow alley, and he steered the men into every one of them. The men cursed as they tripped, fell and banged into one another. They were so intent on catching Yips (and the lighting was so poor) that they didn’t realize that Yips was leading them in a circle back to where they’d met. The chase ended when the first man accidentally kicked over the bucket of paste they’d left behind and splattered it over the other three.

“You idiot!” the fourth man bellowed. He tried to scram off the paste on the corner of a building.

“My shirt’s ruined!” yelled the second man.

“Forget about ruined, it’s marked!” the fourth yelled at him. The other three stared at him, not understanding the risk. “Secret organization, you fools, means you don’t draw attention to yourselves. Clothes covered in paste stand out. Men are going to notice us and ask questions, and none of us have spare clothes to change into.”

Desperate, the second man said, “The fliers. We don’t have enough gold to print up more. We have to get them back.”

The first pointed at the mouth of the alley. “There’s the goblin! And…there’s the town watch.”

Radcliff had trouble with drunken loggers, along with bandits, thieves and the occasional monster, and town leaders hired watchmen with the skills to deal with these problems. The strong, heavily armed and battle hardened men could end a fight fast and had done so often. When the ten watchmen saw four armed men in an alley, paste or no, they assumed the worst and drew their swords and raised their shields.

“What’s this shouting about at such a late hour?” a watchman demanded. “Who are you?”

Still holding the fliers, Yips pointed at the four men and said, “They were putting up bad posters.”

“Bad?” the watchman asked. Yip handed him one, and the watchman scowled as he read it.

“It’s an affront to all that is good and noble about graffiti, with a total lack of aardvarks,” Yips declared.

Watchmen cared little for goblins and nothing about aardvarks, but they scowled at the sight of the flier and its blue ink. Their leader said, “We were warned that someone’s been putting up this trash in neighboring towns. Drop your weapons and kneel!”

The four men made a break for it with the watch in hot pursuit. The second man raised his right hand and drew it back like he was going to throw something, except his hand was empty. He uttered arcane words and an icy dagger formed in his hand. He threw it, but a watchman blocked it with his shield. A crust of ice inches thick spread across the shield, and it grew so heavy the watchman threw it down.

“Anton, cast another spell!” the first man shouted. It was the first time one of them had openly addressed another by name, and their fourth member scowled at such an obvious blunder.

“That’s the only combat spell I know!” Cried out Anton the second man. “Scatter!”

Watchmen broke into teams and followed the fleeing suspects. It was a long chase, and unfortunately a fruitless one as their enemy escaped in the darkness. By dawn they returned to where they’d first seen the men.

“They got away,” a watchman said to another.

The other watchman grunted. “This time. Check for more of those fliers and rip down and you find.”

“That goblin had a lot of them,” another watchman pointed out. “Where’d he go?”

* * * * *

Dozens of fliers showed up across Radcliff over the next ten days, no two of them alike. They included countless typos, massive plot holes and seemingly endless references to aardvarks. Yip was in chicken coop with a feather quill and pot of black ink, ‘correcting’ the last few fliers when the door opened. He looked up from his work, as did the hens, to find an older man dressed in blue and white robes. The older man carried a wood staff with a glowing tip, and when he pointed it t Yips’ fliers it glowed brighter.

“Hello,” the man said. He smiled and approached Yips. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“It’s an advertisement for aardvark races,” Yips said proudly. “It used to be boring stuff, but I fixed it.”

“So I see.” The older man spotted a flier that Yips hadn’t altered. He pointed his staff at the flier and asked, “May I see that one?”

“But it’s boring!”

“I’m an Archivist,” the man explained. Yips’ confused look prompted him to add, “We study ancient history and try to recover lost secrets. We like boring things.”

Yips looked at an unaltered flier and frowned. His mind was trying to work, a task it was unaccustomed to. “This isn’t ancient. Why would you want it?”

“But it is a secret,” the Archivist countered. Yips handed over the flier, and the Archivist read it. “Oh dear.”

Yips took it back and went to work changing it. “See, totally boring.”

“Not to the right people,” the Archivist replied. To Yips’ amazement, the man looked profoundly worried by the flier. “Making public the king’s efforts to hire mercenaries could do terrible damage. It shows his weakness and could encourage others to take advantage of him before he gets the help he needs to defend his lands. Oh Anton, what have you done?”

The Archivist looked terrible. His skin paled and his lips trembled every so slightly. Yips was shocked by the sudden change and put down his work. The goblin may have been half mad, or even three quarters mad, but at heart he was a good person, and took the Archivist’s hand in an effort to comfort him.

“You don’t look so good. I’ll get you an aardvark.”

Callista the nymph had a hundred good reasons not to attend Duke Gallows’ party. Topping that list was the fact the duke had likely invited her solely as a sign of his power. After all, who but a mighty man could bring a magical being to his private estate? Then there was the equally insulting possibility he’d invited her to be gawked at by his rich and powerful friends. But his invitation mentioned that he’d requested an old friend of hers come, and there was a chance, be it ever so small, he wanted her presence for a legitimate reason. It was risky, but she’d decided to attend. In a few more minutes she’d learn whether or not that was a mistake.

The road to Duke Gallows’ private mansion was lined with the rich, the influential, and the dangerous. They were exiting carriages or dismounting horses now that they had arrived at the party (Callista lived only a few miles away and had walked). Mostly there were humans dressed in fashionable clothes and expensive jewelry. A few elves had come from the Yelinid Banking Cartel, and they were staying far away from a pair of stout dwarfs representing Industrial Magic Corporation.

Those were the intended guests, while their bodyguards made for a more diverse crowd. Most of the guards were humans wearing the wildest collection of armors and clothes, while their weapons were equally varied. Callista also counted three minotaurs, two ogres, four adolescent trolls, a stone golem and a darkling, its shadowy form constantly shifting. Guard animals were also common, with hounds, a griffin, a mimic, and some fool had brought a unicorn that was already straining at its reins to attack.

“Ah, Lady Callista,” an elf banker said as he approached. He had blond hair and wore the yellow and white robes common to his cartel. “I was unaware that such an august personality would be in attendance.”

Callista faked a smile and shook his hand. “You’re generous with your praise, but I claim no title of Lady. Just call me Callista.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The elf’s eyes roamed across her body, although thankfully his hands did not. “Our host was vague as to the reason for this event, but I can tell from our companions on the road that there must be something great in the works.”

“I’m sure it will be quite an evening.” She’d brought a sword in case it was too much of an evening. That had happened too often in her three hundred years, and there had been four parties she’d had to fight her way out of.

The dwarfs walked over, and one of them stepped on the elf’s foot. The banker howled and jumped up and down as the smirking dwarfs left. “There’s a line for a reason, you stunted freaks, and you were at the end of it!”

“The duke asked to see us personally,” a dwarf said. He glanced at Callista and nodded to her. “I’ll do what I can to get you in early as well. Leaving you with this lout is a form of torture.”

“The line is moving fast enough for me,” she told them. The sun was only starting to set as guests entered the mansion, and they’d all be inside soon. That was a pity. She’d been enjoying the landscaping. Duke Gallows had planted flowering trees along the road, and beyond that lay expertly manicured gardens and ponds teeming with brightly colored fish.

Someone yelled, “Look out!”

Callista rolled her eyes as the unicorn broke free and tried to impale the nearest guest. Those animals had a well-deserved reputation for being psychotically aggressive, yet men with more money than brains kept thinking they could tame them. The stone golem tackled it and dragged it to the ground, earning a smattering of applause.

The line kept moving until Callista was near the mansion’s entrance. She found human guards armed with swords and two attack dogs waiting for her. Smiling, she handed them her invitation.

“Hello Miss…ah,” he began, and the man’s jaw dropped.

It was a typical reaction. Callista possessed the otherworldly beauty found only among nymphs, and she moved with superhuman grace. Her figure was stunning. Her hair was gleaming silver, as if purest silver coins had been melted down and spun into thread. Her eyes were green. Elves said they were the color of finest jade. Men said they were like the deepest of forests. The last goblin that looked into her eyes had said, “If you’re going to throw up, aim for someone else.” It had made her laugh, a memory she drew upon in hard times.

Callista’s clothes were less impressive than her figure. She wore a white dress that covered everything except her face and fingers, a garment she saved for the rare times she went to social events. Her tailor had assured her that the dress allowed for a free range of motion, which had proven true in three fights. Her shoes were white with silver thread. She wore only one piece of jewelry, a fine silver chain necklace with two gold rings strung over it.

“Callista,” she prompted the guard.

“Yes, um, ma’am. You honor us with your presence.”

Callista looked at the dogs and smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful!”

“Ma’am, those aren’t lap dogs. They’re guard dogs trained to—”

The dogs lunged into her waiting arms and she hugged them. Their ears perked up, and their tails wagged so hard that the animals might take off and fly away. Both dogs rolled over to let her rub their stomachs.

The guard sighed. “Trained to sniff out goblins and keep them out of the party.”

“That is so cute,” Callista told him. She’d once spent a year living among goblins to avoid a king who considered kidnapping an acceptable form of courtship. That time gave her a good appreciation of what goblins could do, and it amused her that the guards thought dogs could keep them out.

The guard glanced at the sword strapped to her back. “Uh, ma’am, we’re under orders to collect weapons from the guests. We’ll look after it and return it when you leave.”

That made Callista pause. She didn’t like going unarmed. It encouraged bad behavior by worse people. Still, it was unlikely that someone would be so offensive that she’d need to cripple him when there were so many witnesses at hand. She reluctantly unstrapped the sword and scabbard and handed them over.

“You’ve got a fine weapon,” the first guard said. The sword wasn’t magical, but had been engraved with images of dragons and set with rubies and pearls.

“It dates to the Ancient Elf Empire and is a gift from my first husband,” she explained. Callista then pressed a finger against the guard’s chest. “I will be very upset if something should happen to it.”

“Uh, uh,” the man stammered.

“Your table is by the fountain,” a second guard said.

She smiled at them, causing the first guard to pass out (his fellow guard barely caught him in time), and then headed for her table. The mansion’s great hall could comfortably sit three hundred and was nearly full. She walked between tables seating men to be reckoned with, and every head turned to follow her. She saw a woman with a baby pressed against her shoulder. Callista smiled and stroked the baby’s cheek as she went by, making the little one laugh and wiggle.

Callista had to give Duke Gallows credit for the decorations. There were huge marble urns planted with gorgeous flowers. Tasteful paintings hung from the walls, and the statues of athletic men and women standing next to every column were masterfully carved. Musicians were placed across the room and filled the air with pleasant melodies. Maybe this night wouldn’t be a disaster.

Ahead of her was a young human couple that gave her pause. They stood side by side, the man’s arm around his wife’s waist as she held onto his hand. They laughed and exchanged loving glances. It stopped Callista in her tracks, but only for a moment. She continued on, whispering, “Be happy for them.”

She spotted a large fountain and a round table big enough to seat ten people. That had to be the one the guard had referred to. To her surprise, there was only one person sitting there, a girl of about fifteen with brown hair and wearing a red dress.

Smiling, Callista took her seat. “Hello there, I’m Callista.”

“Hi.” The girl’s shoulders slumped and she stared at her empty plate.

“Do I have to guess your name?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Gail Heartstone.”

Waiters walked between the tables and set down platters of food. Callista smiled and thanked them when they brought roast pheasant garnished with potatoes, onions and shallots. “Well, Gail, it seems we have this feast to ourselves for the moment, so let me serve you. Breast or thigh?”

Gail didn’t answer right away. Callista sliced off a generous portion for herself and kept smiling. “You’re young to come to a party on your own.”

“I’m not alone, sort of not alone. My dad is with the duke. He’s trying to impress him with how important our family is so the duke will order one of his sons to marry me. Thigh meat.”

“That’s depressing. Here you go, one leg of pheasant. And your mother?”

“Mother went to…oh God, not again.” Callista followed Gail’s gaze, where a woman strongly resembling Gail sat at a bar. Gail blushed and put her face into her hands. “She promised she wouldn’t drink tonight!”

“And I thought I was going to have a rough time.” Callista sat down next to Gail and put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. It will get better in time.”

“How? My father is bartering my life like I’m a poker chip. My mother is going to get drunk, again, and embarrass the whole family. There’s nothing I do to stop either of them. Nobody else can, either. It’s been like this for two years.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Callista took Gail by the chin and made her look up. “Your father isn’t going to marry you into the duke’s family tonight or ever. I’ve heard of the Heartstones. You’re prosperous and well thought of. You are not, however, in the same league as the duke. His sons are destined for arranged marriages with rich, well-connected women. You’re safe for now.”

Gail’s face practically lit up. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. This is one of those times where not being good enough is a good thing. As for your mother, this isn’t the first time I’ve been to an event where someone overindulged. You and I will see half the people here staggering like toddlers in an hour, and many are going to be too drunk to stand. It’s a sad problem, but not a rare one.”

“It’s something.” Gail cut up her food and started eating. “I’ve heard of you, too. Where’s the lucky guy who came with you?”

Waiters brought more platters, this time heaped with beef roasts garnished with carrots and tomatoes. To their credit, they didn’t stare at her too long. Callista took a small portion and handed the platter to Gail. “I came alone, and before you ask, I plan on leaving alone.”

“I wasn’t going there,” Gail promised. Curious, she asked, “Seriously, you couldn’t get a date? There’s got to be a thousand men who’d give anything to be seen with you.”

“The number is a good deal higher than that.” Callista saw a waiter walk by with bowls of fresh peaches. That was a favorite of hers. She was going to ask if he could leave it at her table when a young man hurried over and brought her the bowl.

“Miss Callista, uh, ma’am, here, let me get that for you.” He placed it on the table to her left and took a step back.

“Why Max, look how you’ve grown,” Callista said cheerfully. “Gail, this is Max Dalstay. He’s the son of a friend of mine. Max, this is Gail Heartstone.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Max said. At sixteen, Max was handsome but still growing into manhood. He had a slender build and black hair, and dressed in dark clothes. Quickly turning his attention back to Callista, he said, “I’d have come sooner, but my family is seated across the room and I only just saw you. Can I get you anything?”

Gail stifled a laugh as Callista replied. “That’s sweet of you, Max. Gail and I are doing just fine. Is your father about? Oh, silly question, he’s behind you. Bernard, hello!”

Bernard Dalstay put a hand on his son’s shoulder, and the youth yelped in surprise. The family resemblance was striking, although Bernard was more muscular than his son. The raven haired man had an animal magnetism that bordered on magic, and he drew admiring looks from nearby women (including Gail).

“Dad, I was just saying hi to Miss Callista.”

“That’s kind of you,” his father said. He had a deep voice that commanded respect, and he gently turned his son around. “Our dinner is fast turning into a negotiation with the duke, and he’ll expect to see you with us. Come.”

“But we haven’t seen her in years! It’s rude not to say hello!”

“The night’s young, boy, and you’ll have time to reacquaint yourself later. Now join your mother.”

Bernard’s tone made it clear the matter was closed, and Max reluctantly left. Bernard was about to go as well when Callista said, “He’s the splitting image of you, in every way.”

“What was that about?” Gail asked once they were gone.

“History repeating itself. I first met Bernard at Imperial University when he was eighteen. He came to me several times asking questions, most of which had nothing to do with his studies. Two days later he asked me to marry him.”

Gail burst out laughing. “No!”

“And he repeated the request at every opportunity for the next year and a half.” Callista waved for a waiter to come over.

Gail watched Bernard work his way across the room “He moves like a tiger. You said no to that?”

“It wasn’t easy. It’s never easy. Waiter, could you please bring my friend and I something to drink with our meal?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Once the waiter had left, Gail asked, “So what happened?”

“Bernard wasn’t giving up without a fight, metaphorically speaking. It took some time, but I managed to introduce him to a young lady from a good family, who is today Mrs. Dalstay and mother to his children. I’ve kept in contact with her over the years, and according to her letters life is very good. You have simply got to admire the woman’s stamina.”

Gail’s expression was blank. “I don’t get it.”

“You will when you’re older, dear. I met Max three years ago. As you can see, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“He’s trying to flirt with you when he’s so much younger than you are.”

The waiter came back with a decanter of wine and two glasses. Callista accepted them and said, “I’m three hundred years old. Everyone’s younger than I am.”

Callista felt something brush against her leg. Casually as possible, she picked up a bone from the pheasant and slipped it under the table. An unseen hand took it from her, and she heard a soft munching. She smiled. Goblin sniffing dogs indeed!

Gail watched Bernard and Max from across the room. “If he’d been older when you first met, would you have said yes? I’m sorry to pry like this, but marriage has been coming up a lot around the dinner table at home, and I’m curious.”

“It’s a fair question, and since we don’t have an audience I don’t mind answering it. Bernard is a good man, hard working, fair to the men under him and kind to his children. If he’d been older when we first met, though, I would have still said no.”

“Why?”

Callista was tempted not to answer, but she could tell that Gail was scared for her future. The nymph had been scared many times before and wished it on no one, so she reluctantly replied while she poured drinks for them both.

“Gail, how much do you know about me?”

“Not much. People say you’re pretty, that you’ll never grow old, that animals love you even if they’re wild, and that you’re nice, but not much more than that.”

“The nice part might not be correct.” Callista took a sip of wine and swirled it in her mouth. “I have been married twice. The first time was to a captain of a warship. Martin Starlit. You, you would have liked him, Gail. He was a commoner who worked his way up through the ranks. He never lost his connection to the people, not the way some men do when they gain power.”

She stopped to look at Gail. “He was the one who taught me how to speak the human language. I learned so much from him about the sea and ships, and about fighting. You’ll never guess how many hours he spent showing me how to defend myself. We were so happy together no matter how many men tried to come between us.”

This was difficult for Callista to talk about. She went through her memories until she found a time when Martin had comforted her so long ago. “This is hard. I know. It was hard for me when I went through it. But I know you and I know what you’re capable of. You can get through this.” There, that stemmed the flow of tears.

“What happened?”

“Time happened, Gail. We were married for thirty-one years. Three thousand years together wouldn’t have satisfied me. He grew old and I didn’t. One day he died. It wasn’t in battle or from his ship sinking. Those would have never killed him. He just passed away in his sleep.”

Callista felt something brush against her leg, but this time it was different. Tiny hands grasped onto her. Looking down, she saw a small boy of perhaps eighteen months holding her leg. He wore simple white clothes and had an unruly mop of brown hair, brown eyes, and an infectious smile.

“Why Gail, we’ve got a visitor! Hello there, little man!”

Callista scooped up the child and sat him down on the table. Gail grinned and reached over to stroke his hair. The boy laughed and grabbed her fingers. “Hi there! What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t answer. Instead he smiled and steadied himself by grabbing Callista’s wrists.

“He’s too young to talk yet,” Callista said. She felt a sudden impish urge, and tucked a napkin into the back of the boy’s shirt. “There you go. You’ve got a cape. Important men like you should always wear a cape.”

“Ooh, let’s give him a spoon,” Gail said. Once she’d armed him, the boy eagerly whacked the spoon against the table. Bang, bang, bang.

“Do you have brothers, Gail?”

Gail handed the boy another spoon, and he banged both against the table before throwing them away. “Two of them, and a sister. They’re in almost as much trouble as me. Father has plans for us that don’t involve letting us choose who we’re being married to. I’m just the first one to get auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

“Dear, don’t joke about that.”

“Sorry. It just feels that way sometimes. Let me hold him!”

Callista tried to pass the boy off, but he was having none of it. He grabbed onto the nymph again and pulled himself into her lap. She gave up trying to move him and instead cuddled the child. Memories flooded back of times she’d held her own children, fed them, consoled them, taught them.

“Children are so uncomplicated,” the nymph said. “They want love and their basic needs met, nothing more. If you gave this boy a gold necklace he’d try to eat it, and throw it away when he realized he couldn’t.”

A woman in a blue dress marched up to them and scowled. Callista stood up and faked a smile. “Is this young man with you?”

“Yes, he is,” she said tartly.

“Sorry,” Gail said sheepishly. “We would have returned him, but we didn’t know who to give him back to.”

The woman took her son. “I can’t turn my back for a second without Hank running off. He doesn’t much care which woman is holding him.” Her tone was pure acid when she added, “Rather like his father that way.”

They waited until the woman was a safe distance away before Gail said, “See, that’s why I worry about being married off.”

“I can’t help if you’re looking for advice on dealing with bad marriages. Both of mine worked out.”

“About your other marriage. I mean, I hope I’m not pushing.”

Waiters came with more platters of food. This time they brought steaks with sharp knives to cut them, meat pies, loaves of bread drizzled with honey, and vegetable soup. There wasn’t room left on the table for anything but their plates and the plates of their still missing fellow diners.

“There’s enough food here for twenty people,” Gail said. “How much do they expect us to eat?”

“It’s considered good manners to overfeed guests at these kinds of parties,” Callista explained. “You give them so much that they can pick and choose. Leftovers go to the staff, and the bones and fruit peelings are eaten by goblins.”

Gail laughed. “You won’t find a goblin within ten miles of this place! The guards and dogs will keep them out.”

“Guards, dogs, magic wards, goblin confounding talismans, and I think I saw someone pouring piles of kitchen scraps outside to distract them. It didn’t work.”

“Didn’t? What do you mean didn’t?”

A voice under the table said, “Pass the mayo.”

Callista took a small dish of mayonnaise off the table and placed it on the floor, where a pale blue grubby hand pulled it under the table. She also dropped a handful of bones, which the goblin also took. Gail opened her mouth to scream, but Callista pressed two fingers against the girl’s lips.

“The other guests are having such a good time. Let’s not ruin it.”

Callista decided to continue answering Gail’s original question to distract the girl from causing a scene. “My second husband was Anthony Bester. He grew the best grapes and mixed the finest wines, and it took a lawsuit to get the elves to stop claiming otherwise. I met him when I was still dealing with the loss of my first husband. Specifically, he took the glass of wine I was drinking and poured it down a sewer.”

“He did what?”

“You had to have been there to understand.”

Memories flowed over her of the moment when Anthony had said, “Good God, woman, if you’re going to get falling down drunk again, at least drink decent wine. Here, try this.”

“Antony was a widower, so he knew what I was going through,” Callista continued. “He taught me a lot about wine and grapes, and about dealing with loss. We were married twelve years when he passed away. There were thousands of men that plague could have taken and left the world a better place, and it had to take Anthony.”

Gail looked to be on the verge of tears. “You lost both your husbands?”

“I’m ageless, Gail, ever young, ever beautiful, and ever losing those who matter to me. I outlived my husbands, and the children we had together. They didn’t inherit my agelessness, and I watched them age and die, and then saw the same thing happen to our grandchildren. That’s the reason I haven’t taken another husband. It’s not because there’s no one worthy. When Bernard Dalstay proposed to me he was young, strong, handsome, and more importantly I knew he was a good man. I turned him down because I couldn’t go through that again. I couldn’t watch him weaken and die like Martin and Anthony. It’s too much.

“I have perfect memory. I remember everything that happened during my marriages. Every minute we spent together, every word we said, every touch is stored in my mind as if it happened yesterday. If I could forget it somehow maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but I can’t, and there are days it hurts so much.”

Callista looked at her meal. Magnificent as it was, she found herself with no appetite. “It’s made having friends hard, too. I’ve had so many over the years and outlived them as well. There were years I attended one funeral after another. These days I try to stay as professional as I can with others and maintain my distance. I’ve found a few beings that enjoy long lives, like gnomes and dwarfs, and one dragon, and we spend time together. I don’t want to shut myself away from the world. I know Martin and Anthony wouldn’t want that, but sometimes it’s so hard when I know that all I see is going to pass away and I won’t.”

It was strange. The room was filling to capacity with revelers, many of them drunk and getting loud. The musicians played louder to be heard over the clatter of silverware and people talking. Somehow, in spite of all that noise, there was a profound quiet at Callista and Gail’s table.

“I’m sorry,” Callista said softly. “It wasn’t fair of me to burden you with that. I keep thinking I’ve dealt with these feelings, and then something comes up and dredges them back to the surface.”

“It’s okay,” Gail told her. “Um, what do you do when men are…interested in you, and you’re not interested in them?”

“That’s become a specialty of mine. The nice ones take no for an answer. I redirect the persistent ones, like I did with Bernard. It’s not easy, but I can do it. I’m not gentle with the ones who aren’t nice. I can give as well as I get, and I’ve got more experience dishing out abuse than nearly everyone on this world. As for the really obnoxious ones, I’ve maimed more than a few.”

Gail dropped her silverware. “What?”

“Martin taught me how to fight like my life depends on it. I’ve taken lessons from others on combat over the centuries, always the best in their fields. There aren’t many who can fight me and win. It helps that the magistrates in my home city have been understanding when I have to send someone to a healer.”

There was a savage satisfaction when she replayed a memory in her mind of the last time that had happened. “This is the fifth time as magistrate that I’ve had to discipline a man for trying to force his attention on Callista the nymph. Admittedly this is the first time the defendant wasn’t able to stand, speak, or maintain bladder control after the beating she inflicted. I’ll take that into consideration during your sentencing.”

“That’s got to make parties like this hard for you,” Gail replied. “All the people drinking too much and acting dumber the more they drink.”

“You have no idea. It used to be fun when I went to parties with Martin and Anthony. Martin never liked celebrations and ended up spending his time with the staff. He’d get them singing and laughing so much that they had a better time than the guests. As for Anthony, if he was here he’d be complaining about the wine, and he wouldn’t be shy about it.”

“Really?”

Callista took a sip of wine and frowned. “Oh yes.”

Memories of Anthony came back and made her smile again. “This wine isn’t supposed to be served with roast pork. It should have been served to the pig.”

There was a sudden crash from across the room where the bar was. Gail slid down in her chair in a desperate bid to hide. “That was my mother, wasn’t it?”

Callista stroked Gail’s hair. “She’s okay. Someone’s helping her up.”

With the conversation paused by Gail’s humiliation, Callista took a moment to study the room. Many of the tables were only partly occupied since so many guests were milling about in large groups and gossiping. The largest group was centered around Duke Gallows and included at least fifty people vying for his attention. But to her surprise and delight, a white haired gnome in a tuxedo walked around the crowds to join her.

“Fiddler Plast, you rogue!” Callista called out as she rose to greet him. “It’s been ages. You look wonderful.”

Plast bowed at the waist and climbed into a chair next to her. The duke’s servants had thoughtfully provided a footstool for the gnome, and he reached his place without difficulty. “I’d say the same to you, but it would be redundant. You look as you always do, Callista, the personification of beauty. Ah, our host was kind enough to provide adequate sustenance for the evening. If you could be so kind as to pass the rest of the pheasant?”

Gail did so, and watched in awe as Plast devoured every last scrap of meat on the bird. He proceeded to crack open the bones and scoop out the marrow, then drained the decanter of wine to wash it down. The gnome reached for the nearest full platter and said, “I’m pleased you could make it. I have developed a mathematical formula that I hope will explain the movements of the constellation Erving the Marmoset. As I doubt the duke will have anything of relevance to say tonight, I hope we can spend a few hours discussing the matter.”

“I’d love to, but Gail and I—”

“Are finished,” Gail said. “You answered all my questions and more, and if this makes you happy then I don’t want to keep you from it. I didn’t even know you were interested in the stars.”

Plast laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Gail’s face shifted from embarrassment to anger and back again before she asked, “What’s so funny?””

“I’m a professor of astronomy at Imperial University,” Callista explained.

Gail’s jaw dropped. “You’re an astronomer?”

“A girl’s got to do something to earn a living.”

Putting two and two together, Gail said, “So when you said you met Bernard Dalstay at Imperial University, he was in one of your classes.”

“My lectures are always well attended, sometimes by people actually interested in Astronomy. Fiddler Plast is a fellow astronomer who built the largest telescope in the kingdom, and kindly lets me use it.” Callista was about to tell Gail about her job when a most unwelcome face appeared in the crowd. “Dear God, it’s Lord Bryce.”

“What’s that idiot doing here?” Plast demanded as he continued serving himself.

A voice called out from under the table, “Quick, pretend you’re dead.”

Lord Bryce was a lesser nobleman but possessed wealth that few could rival. Between his riches and high birth he was an absolute bore on a good day, and a pompous, lecherous malcontent the rest of the time. He had good looks and dressed in fashionable clothes with a touch of jewelry. Such a fine appearance fooled people meeting him for the first time.

Lord Bryce’s passing drew notice from the other guests, but not their approval. No one invited him to join them or engaged him in conversation. Most looked away when he neared them, a sign of unofficial disapproval among the rich. It didn’t bother Lord Bryce in the slightest. He noticed their snub, but instead of anger or embarrassment, he showed only smug certainly.

“Callista, how good to see you again,” Lord Bryce began as he approached their table. He could be charming for short periods of time, but it never lasted. “The time since our last meeting has been far too long, and I hungered for the chance to see you again.”

“The last time we met, you were ejected from university grounds and then banned from them entirely,” Callista replied. She had learned thousands of insults over the last three hundred years and was sorely tempted to use them. Instead she kept her voice calm and tried to end the conversation without stirring up trouble.

“You do have the most odious men running that establishment. They have no sense of humor or knowledge of their rightful place.” Lord Bryce put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a predatory smile. “Thankfully this time we can spend time together without interruption by lesser minds.”

Keep calm, she repeated to herself. She’d dealt with many men like Lord Bryce. Keep calm. “Duke Gallows invited us both for a reason I’m sure he intends to share, and that allows no opportunity for private affairs.”

“Gallows is busy and will remain so for hours,” Lord Bryce replied with a smirk. “That leaves time enough for us and an estate large enough to spend it alone.”

Keeping calm, very calm. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and he would be even less reasonable drunk than normal. “I fear I must remind you that while these are private grounds rather than public, the behavior that cost you your place at Imperial University would be no more appreciated here than it was there. Your hand, remove it.”

Fiddler Plast didn’t look up from his plate, now filled with food. “You’re not among commoners this time, Bryce. Make a fool of yourself among your peers and the consequences are going to be massive.”

“It’s Lord Bryce,” he corrected the gnome through clenched teeth, “and my words aren’t directed to someone beneath me in every possible way.”

Plast chuckled. “Racial slurs. I didn’t see that coming. Oh, wait, yes I did, because you talk like that to everyone all the time.”

Callista took Lord Bryce’s hand resting on her shoulder. For a second he smiled, but that disappeared when she slid his hand back to his side. “There are limits to my patience, and you reached them. Kindly return to your table and I’ll make no mention of this to our host.”

Lord Bryce’s face turned red. “I will not be talked to this way. I will not be treated like a servant. You may no more dismiss me than you can stop the tide!”

Nearby guests turned in surprise as Lord Bryce grew louder. Gail sunk into her chair, trying to avoid notice. Plast stopped eating and gripped his fork and knife like weapons. The goblin under the table ran, but only far enough to retrieve two more goblins hiding beneath another table.

Lord Bryce grabbed Callista by the shoulders and turned her around so she had to look at him. “You conniving vixen! The others here may be fooled into thinking you are a lady of class, a woman of distinction, but I know your history! You gave yourself to a penniless bilge rat pretending to be a captain, and then a drunk while your first husband’s body was still warm! You let wretched men of no breeding have you and turn down your betters? The nerve!”

Memories of her husbands crashed into Callista like an avalanche. She remembered how they’d fought for her, defended her from monsters like Lord Bryce, protected her in court when she’d had to defend herself. She remembered their deaths, the agony of it fresh like a knife wound, the pain of knowing she’d go on living, not for decades but for centuries or even millennia, every day of it without them.

The pain mixed with her loathing of Lord Bryce and hundreds of men like him she’d met over the centuries. This, this dog! This drunken, inbred, idiotic blight on humanity! Martin and Anthony were a hundred times the man Lord Bryce was, and to have this cretin smear their good names in front of everyone!

“How dare you!” Callista screamed. She slapped him. Hard. Then she kneed him in the crotch. Lord Bryce staggered back, which saved him from the worst of the kick she aimed at his head. The blow could have broken his jaw but instead only split his lip.

The three goblins attacked him, kicking him in the shins and stomping on his feet. At three feet tall the dirty little creatures couldn’t reach much higher and hadn’t come armed for a fight. Lord Bryce howled in outrage and knocked them aside before balling his hands into fists and charging Callista. Plast jumped from his chair and moved to help her. Poor dear Plast, he didn’t realize who really needed protection.

The guards at the mansion’s entrance may have confiscated Callista’s sword, but her first husband had taught her to improvise. The steak knives at the table were five inches long and looked freshly sharpened. That would do nicely. She snatched the nearest knife and threw it at Lord Bryce’s throat.

Time seemed to freeze. The knife sailed through the air. Lord Bryce didn’t see it coming and so didn’t try to dodge. It would have killed him except a blur of black slammed into him. It was Max Dalstay, lighter than his enemy but running so fast he knocked them both to the floor. Max rolled off as Lord Bryce screamed and staggered to his feet.

Men ran in and got between Lord Bryce and Callista. Two guards grabbed him and shoved him against a wall. Bernard Dalstay ran over only seconds behind his son, just in time to see Lord Bryce burst free and come after Callista again.

“Get out of my way!” Lord Bryce’s voice was hateful, animalistic.

Bernard Dalstay stood his ground, with Callista and his son behind him. His voice was soft yet still commanded respect when he answered. “Walk away while you still can.”

The guard came back with reinforcements and seized Lord Bryce. They held him while a crowd gathered and Duke Gallows came. The Duke was an older man in formal wear, and the look on his face would have terrified a lion.

“Bryce, you idiot! I knew your reputation for womanizing and placed you as far from Professor Callista as humanly possible. I thought you’d have the common sense to not make a fool of yourself yet again.”

“How can you place the blame on me when Dalstay’s brat struck me?” Lord Bryce demanded.

“He was saving your miserable life.” Duke Gallows marched over to the wall behind Lord Bryce and pulled out the knife embedded in it. Marching back to Lord Bryce, the duke tossed the knife to the floor at the man’s feet. “Had he been a second slower you’d be dead.”

No one in the room believed the story, and they politely agreed that was exactly what had happened. It was a convenient lie that let Max Dalstay avoid the repercussions of attacking a man his equal and the potential blood feud that would entail. But that didn’t end the matter. All eyes remained on the duke, for he was their host and the highest-ranking man in the room. Enough of them had seen and heard Lord Bryce that his actions couldn’t be easily swept under the rug or explained away.

“Callista, may I offer my most profound apologies,” Duke Gallows said. “Your attendance was a gift, and your generosity in coming was poorly repaid. I understand if you wish to leave after such an incident, but I would consider it a personal favor if you would remain. As for you, Bryce, guards, take him outside. I’ll deal with this myself.”

“You can’t do this!” Lord Bryce yelled as he was dragged off. Clearly the duke could, especially in his own home. It was actually a kindness since they’d be able to settle things without witnesses.

Callista sank back into her chair, physically and emotionally exhausted. Why did social events keep turning into battlefields? The other guests drifted off and learned that scores of goblins who’d snuck into the party had taken the opportunity to rifle through their purses, coats, wallets and anything else they’d left at their tables when they ran to watch the commotion. Plast patted Callista on the arm and then sat down himself.

Not far away, Bernard Dalstay told his son, “You could have been killed just now.”

Looking miserable, Max asked, “What else could I do?”

“Nothing, son, nothing. Go back and tell your mother that you’re okay.”

Bernard Dalstay was about to leave when Callista said, “He’s your son, all right.”

Bernard smiled and his chest puffed out in fatherly pride. “That he is.”

Watching them leave, it occurred to Callista just how much trouble she was in. Not for hitting and nearly killing Lord Bryce. That idiot was reaching the limits of how much trouble his money and family connections could buy him out of. His peers had not ignored his behavior up to this point, but they’d been quiet in their disapproval. Causing such a scene publicly made that impossible, and Lord Bryce would soon find himself a pariah.

The problem was going to be Max Dalstay. He’d been seated at the other end of the room and still came running to the rescue, even if he hadn’t saved the person he’d intended to. She’d hoped his interest in her was a passing thing, but what he’d done tonight bordered on the heroic. Clearly he wasn’t going to just let his infatuation go. It could take years to dissuade the boy, and he might never give up on her. What was she to do?

“Did you see that?” Gail asked. She was looking at Max as he left. “He took on a man twice as big as himself.”

Callista was about to correct Gail on the difference in size (Max being more like two thirds Lord Bryce’s weight) when she smiled instead. Maybe this time it wouldn’t be hard to redirect a man’s attention, and do Gail a good turn at the same time.

“Wasn’t that brave of him?” Callista asked. “You’ll never guess what his family does for a living.”

The Great Zamphini, master entertainer, friend to all children and beloved citizen of Lambsport was trying very hard not to be noticed. This was an unreasonable expectation given that he weighed three hundred pounds, dressed in bright red robes, carried a walking stick six feet long and was standing on a street corner in broad daylight. Nevertheless he was making a good effort by being very quiet and staying off the main roads with their bustling markets.

Zamphini stroked his bushy black beard as he waited, hoping no one would see him. He glanced down at the cobblestone street and the sewer grate he’d pried open an hour earlier. A slender rope ran from a lamppost down to the sewers below, and he had a bucket of soapy water for the trusted agent he’d sent into that mess.

“Zamphini?” Zamphini winced when he heard his name called. Putting on his best showman’s smile, he turned and saw Watch Officer Wasler marching toward him. Wasler’s tan uniform looked a bit worse for wear, as did the man himself, but he was still younger, stronger and handsomer than the famed entertainer. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, Officer Wasler, a pleasure to see you as always! You look well. And how is your darling wife?”

“She’s fine.” The officer walked up and rested his hand on his sheathed sword. “Why are you so far from home? There are no parties here, and no one here could afford you if there were.”

“Scandalous, isn’t it? I’ve lowered my rates twice and still get only half the business of last year. I blame the war with Duke Thornwood, and the criminally high taxes that came with it. Since when is laughter a luxury?”

Wasler frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Look, it’s been a horrible week with three men beaten to within an inch of their lives in my district. I don’t have the time or patience to play ‘what’s Zamphini doing?’ today, so spit it out.”

“Three? I’d only heard of two.”

“The baker’s son was attacked on his way home last night. Four men came at him in the dark and broke both his arms, so you’ll forgive me if I have better things to do than—” Wasler’s voice trailed off when he saw the rope going into the sewers. “What’s that?”

Zamphini stepped between Wasler and the open sewer. “This? Oh, a minor problem. I was taking Sassy for a walk when she fell down there. I can’t fit, and I wouldn’t dream of asking someone to go down for me, so I lowered a rope for her to climb up.”

“A rope you just happened to be carrying with you, and a bucket of water? And since when do you take your dolls for walks?”

The rope went taut as Sassy climbed out of the sewers. Zamphini snatched up the doll and dunked her in the bucket of water. He cleaned off the filth smeared on the doll until she looked presentable. “I got the bucket and rope after she fell in. There we go, Sassy, good as new.”

Sassy got out of the bucket and curtsied to Wasler. The doll looked like a toddler girl two feet tall with white porcelain skin and black hair, wearing black shoes and a blue dress. Wasler frowned at the doll, then noticed a new addition to Sassy’s outfit, a small backpack bulging with coins. He glared at Zamphini, who looked down ashamed.

“It’s the war. So few people have parties, so many hold funerals. I’m hired once a month if I’m lucky. This month, nothing. I haven’t been invited to a single banquet this year!” Zamphini patted his amble belly. “I’m wasting away!”

Wasler chuckled, but there was truth to what Zamphini said. He’d lost forty pounds this year, and not an ounce of it willingly. His red clothes were in good condition but hung loosely on him.

Zamphini picked up Sassy and the coins. “It costs money to keep Sassy and her sisters and brothers going. I looked down the sewer grate and saw coins lost in the sewers, so I lowered Sassy down to get them. It’s no crime, and I’m sure if you look deep into your heart, you won’t want people to know The Great Zamphini has come to this.”

“You found that much in a sewer?”

“Fallen coins get flushed into the sewers when it rains hard,” Zamphini said. “No one goes after them, and it adds up as the years go by.”

Wasler said nothing. It took Zamphini a moment to notice that Wasler’s attention was focused on the money Sassy had brought up. There was perhaps thirty copper coins and two silver ones, an impressive sum in such hard times. With so much money going for the war there was precious little for even essentials, like the salaries of the city watch.

“You, ah, haven’t been paid in a while, have you?” Zamphini asked. When Wasler didn’t answer, Zamphini took a silver coin and passed it to him. “Your wife’s expecting again, isn’t she? I’m sure she’d love it if you bought her a nice dress.”

“I’ve been two months with no pay, only promises.” Wasler’s face showed how much he hated himself for taking the money. “I’m going to spend it on food and you know it. Go home, Zamphini. You’re a good man, and I’ve seen too many good men hurt.”

Wasler turned to leave when he heard a scratching noise from the roofs above. The brick buildings were two stories tall, and the glare of the setting sun made it impossible to see what was making the sound. “What was that?”

“Cats,” Zamphini told him. “They have to be careful these days. Some people are so poor they don’t care where their meat comes from.”

Once the officer had left, Zamphini held Sassy up to his face. “You did good. Tell me, did you see any ghoul tracks?” Sassy shook her head, and Zamphini smiled. “That’s three months and no sign of them. I think we got them all. Before we go, I need to make sure water didn’t get inside you.”

Sassy tipped her head as Zamphini took a brass key from one of his deep pockets. He inserted it into the doll’s neck and turned it, opening a panel on her back. Sassy’s body contained spinning brass gears, thin brass cables and etched obsidian spheres. Glass tubes carrying bright green liquid ran through the doll. Zamphini peered into Sassy and smiled when he found nothing had seeped in. Satisfied that his star performer was in good condition, he closed the panel and locked it shut.

With that done, Zamphini set Sassy on his shoulder and headed out. He had a few more places to visit before nightfall. He went onto the main roads and their stalls selling, well, not much of anything. The war cost Lambsport a fortune in gold each month, and feeding the army in the field sucked up all but the most basic foods. Hawkers shouted out what they were selling and for how much.

“Firewood, one copper piece a cord!”

“Chickens! Live chickens! Five copper pieces for a live chicken!”

“Fresh fish, caught today! You can probably afford it!”

“Shameful what they’re asking,” Zamphini told Sassy. She shrugged in reply. “You’re lucky I brew up your fuel myself, or you’d be as hungry as I am.”

The overpriced goods still drew a crowd. Most were humans, but a handful of broad shouldered dwarfs sold knives. Five elves representing the Yelinid Banking Cartel had set up a stall and were offering loans. Goblins stayed in the alleys and street edges, careful not to get stepped on by the bigger races as they snatched up garbage. A single ogre wearing a kilt stood under an arch. The hairy brute gripped an ax and looked intimidating as he waited for clients. In the past Zamphini had seen men desperate enough to hire the ogre as a bodyguard or troubleshooter, yet another sign of Lambsport’s hard times.

Lambsport was a city of contrasts. Every home and shop of the seaside city was made of brick, an expensive move for such poor people, but an unavoidable one. The city had burned down so many times over the centuries that the residents had finally accepted the cost and difficulty of building with stone. Lambsport had fifty thousand residents and half as many visitors, yet drew little attention from their ruler Duke Edgely. Edgely was more interested in fighting rival dukes than sniggling, insignificant things like trade, fishing, manufacturing or learning. The port city and its inhabitants were left alone as long as they paid taxes and lots of them. This gave the people of Lampsport a degree of freedom and was the reason The Great Zamphini called it home.

Zamphini was a minor celebrity in Lambsport, and his arrival in the market drew friendly greetings. An older man said, “Hey, Zamphini, I’m practicing to be a fortune teller. I can tell you which block the city watch will stake out to catch those hooligans.”

“Really? Which one?”

“The wrong one, same as every night.” The old man laughed at his own wit, not noticing he was the only one to do so.

“Be nice,” Zamphini said. “They’re good men, and they’d get those villains if Duke Edgely hadn’t conscripted half the watchmen.”

“Ha!” The old man spat on the ground, then pointed at Sassy. “You be careful, friend. The way things are going they’ll put a uniform on your doll and send her to war. She’d be better than most. Hey, Sassy, I bet they’ll promote you to officer!”

Sassy stood up straight on Zamphini’s shoulders and saluted. People laughed as she marched in place. Zamphini laughed too, but it wasn’t so funny. He’d received discreet inquiries from Duke Edgely’s officials wondering if his dolls could fight. He’d explained they were too small for battle, but new requests came monthly.

A young man watched Zamphini walk by and followed him. The youth was trying to look casual and failing miserably. Zamphini stopped to inspect a stall offering pastries. The youth came closer, careful to stay behind his intended victim. He took his hands out of his pockets and raised them.

“Sassy bites,” Zamphini said without turning around. The youth hesitated and lowered his hands. “You have ten fingers, a fact that will change if you act foolishly.”

Sassy turned around and smiled at the young man, a twinkle in her eye as she snapped her mouth closed. Happily, the youth put his hands back in his pockets and left. Zamphini chuckled and left for another stall, his walking stick making a steady tap as he walked. There was also a scratching noise on the rooftops, but that was lost in the tumult of the market.

“As I live and breathe, The Great Zamphini!” a shrill voice called out. It took a lot of effort for Zamphini to force a smile as he turned around. The thin, immaculately dressed woman took his hands in hers and smiled.

“Aliana Treter!” Zamphini said with a laugh. “It’s been too long.”

“Years, I know, but my son still talks about the show you put on for his birthday, and that was ages ago! All the best women wanted to hire you after that.”

“At massive discounts,” Zamphini added. What was it about the rich that you had to claw the money out of their hands? It had taken five months to get this crone to pay him, and her friends were just as bad.

Ignoring what he’d said, Aliana’s face lit up when she saw Sassy. “Well hello, Molly!”

“Ah, no, this is Sassy. Molly and the other dolls are at home with my wife.”

“Oh yes, I’d heard about her. Poor girl came down with red eyes plague. I had that myself when I was younger. Took me a month to get over it. Most people need five months, but I’ve always had a strong constitution. How are your children?”

Zamphini rolled his eyes. “They don’t visit, they don’t write, they don’t send money. They could send money!”

Aliana laughed. “I know, I know! It’s the curse of parents everywhere that children don’t care or listen. My oldest, the one whose party you did, he went and joined the army.”

“Really?” Zamphini didn’t try to disguise his shock. The war between Duke Edgely and Duke Thornwood was as brutal as it was long. Few men became soldiers if they could help it.

“I told him I had more than enough money to pay off Duke Edgely’s men if they showed up at the door, but he was sold on glory in battle and becoming a great man. I told him you don’t have to be a hero to be important in Lambsport. Take you for instance. Everyone knows you here, and all you do is entertain at parties.”

In an epic act of cluelessness, Aliana totally ignored the disbelieving look on Zamphini’s face. Instead she went on prattling. “I mean, your little toys are treated like they’re something special. Why just last month a fool man went and claimed you were a mad scientist, and Molly here was something called a clockwork.”

Sassy scowled and folded her arms across her chest. Feeling a tad worried, Zamphini asked, “And what became of this man?”

Sounding annoyed that she’d been interrupted, Aliana said, “The fool went to Duke Edgely and tried to make an issue of it. He expected a reward for informing on you, the cad. Our duke wouldn’t hear of it. He had the man flogged and gave him three months’ hard labor.”

“I’m glad our duke is so understanding,” Zamphini said. “Accusations like that can ruin a man’s reputation.”

Aliana waved her hand like she was shooing away a fly. “The man’s an idiot, and there’s no shortage of those. Can you believe he’d say such a thing about a harmless old man like you? Scandalous, absolutely scandalous.”

Zamphini took a step back and tried to come up with an excuse to leave (he had several, but none were polite), when Aliana took his hands again. “You’ve heard about those poor men being attacked? Of course you have. There have been eighteen since the start of the year. The odd thing is they weren’t robbed. Beaten bloody, but not a coin taken. You be careful. If these mongrels would attack fit young men, why, they’d go after an old man like you in a heartbeat. Watch yourself, darling!”

With that Aliana disappeared into the crowd to dispense her unique brand of ‘help’ to some other unfortunate soul. Zamphini breathed a sigh of relief and was about to leave when he saw movement to his right.

There was a pile of dead rats in the mouth of an alley. It was hard to tell how many there were, but Zamphini estimated they numbered thirty or more. The rats had died not long ago, likely when he was talking with Aliana.

Zamphini looked around and stepped into the alley once he was sure no one was watching. Something crouched in the shadows and tossed another dead rat onto the pile.

“I know this must be boring for you, but I believe my instructions were fairly clear,” Zamphini told it. The thing whimpered and jumped to the rooftops. “That’s better.”

With that cleared up, Zamphini left the alley and continued on his way. Near the edge of the market was a small store selling fruit. Zamphini smiled and rubbed his hands together when he reached it. “Peaches! Ah, it’s been so long since I had any. Dried peaches, they’re good if you can’t find better, but nothing matches fruit fresh off the tree.”

A middle aged woman manning the store smiled when she saw him. “I was hoping I’d see you today. How are you?”

“Crystal, you devilish beauty, you don’t look a day over twenty.” Zamphini stepped into the store and kissed her hand. “You look well. Is business good? Are your children well?”

“I am, it’s not and they are.” Crystal looked a good deal younger than she was. Her clothes were simple but well tailored by her able hands, and a warm smile was rarely absent from her face. “How are you, flatterer?”

“Seeing you smile again takes a weight off my heart.” He saw Crystal’s oldest daughter Gwen sweeping the back of the store. Like most girls, Gwen had matured earlier than boys her age, but much faster than normal. The girl was fourteen going on twenty, a beauty as great as her mother. Baggy clothes hid her curves so few men noticed her. “Gwen, you look radiant.”

“Mister Zamphini!” Gwen’s face lit up and she ran over. “Sassy!”

Sassy jumped off Zamphini’s shoulder and landed in Gwen’s arms. The girl shrieked with laughter and spun around in a full circle with the doll. Zamphini laughed and patted her on the back.

“You two play and I’ll fill my belly,” he said. Still smiling, he went back to admiring the fresh peaches. He took a straw bag from his deep pockets and loaded it with fruit. “She seems happy.”

Crystal followed him, her voice soft as she spoke. “That drunken lout Yal Bridger hasn’t bothered us all week. Zamphini, please tell me you didn’t hurt him.”

“No, and that was a hard promise to keep after I’d met him.” Zamphini finished filling the bag and brought out another. “Your description of his character left out a laundry list of flaws besides bothering a girl half his age. We spoke and I explained that his behavior was unacceptable. He’s left Lambsport, headed where I can’t say.”

Crystal raised her eyebrows. “He left the city? Good God, what did you say to him?”

“My words were few but well chosen. Ooh, plums!”

Crystal’s earlier joy was replaced with sadness. “I’m sorry I had to ask for help. I should have handled this, but with my husband conscripted I wasn’t sure what to do. The city watch wouldn’t help, and I’m shocked to say my relatives said Gwen is old enough to marry.”

“Say no more to me of the hardships of families. It’s a problem I know too well. My father could have helped me a thousand times, yet he never raised a hand in my defense. He’s the most greedy, suspicious, ungrateful, black-hearted man you’ll ever meet!”

“How is he?” Crystal asked.

“Still mayor.”

Their conversation was interrupted when the ogre walked by them in the company of a farmer. Lambsport had a strong odor from so many people living together, but the ogre’s musky scent was noticeable from ten feet away. Zamphini saw scars crisscrossing the ogre’s chest and arms, the healed wounds as thick as lines on a street map. The farmer looked nervous as he passed a pouch of coins to the burly ogre. “The beast’s come up from the sea twice this week, and last time it tried to force its way into my barn. Please, I just want this to stop.”

The ogre’s deep, rumbling reply was hard to understand. “I’ll make it go away for good. Meet me at the city gate in an hour.”

“There was a time the army or city watch would have handled such problems,” Zamphini said once the ogre and farmer had left. “These days, they’re too busy with the war to save their own people. If the fighting ends tomorrow it still wouldn’t be soon enough.”

Crystal frowned and pointed at the ogre. “There’s been something on my mind. No one would be foolish enough to try and conscript someone that dangerous, but why hasn’t Duke Edgely hired him for the war?”

“Ogres don’t obey anyone blindly. They follow those they respect, and it’s a rare man who can earn that. He’s more valuable to them here handling problems they can’t be bothered with than ignoring their orders on the battlefield.”

More softly, she asked, “Those men who were attacked at night, do you think he’s responsible?”

Zamphini shook his head and turned his attention back to the fruit. “No, and for two reasons. The men who were beaten all said they couldn’t identify their attackers in the dark. If the ogre did it, who could mistake him for another when he’s that big, and with that smell?”

She smiled at him. “I suppose not. What’s the other reason?”

“With muscles like that, if he hit those men they’d be dead.” Zamphini finished his selection and tried to hand a copper coin to Crystal. She made no move to take it.

“You earned that a thousand times over.”

Zamphini opened her hand and pressed the coin into her palm. “Dealing with Bridger was a public service. This is for the fruit.”

Crystal looked likely to argue, but the sound of running feet and wicker baskets falling to the ground caught their attention. It was the youth who’d followed Zamphini not half an hour ago, this time with a package clenched to his chest. Two watchmen chased him down the street toward Zamphini and Crystal. The youth shoved a woman out of his way as a watchman shouted, “Halt, thief!”

“Sassy, would you mind?” Zamphini asked. Sassy jumped out of Gwen’s arms and ran into the street. The youth ran in front of the fruit store, not noticing the doll until she grabbed him by the ankle and pulled hard to the left. He cried out as he fell and dropped the package. The watchmen grabbed him and pulled him up before they forced him up against a brick wall.

“That was stupid,” a watchman said as he bound the youth’s hands. “You’re looking at three months’ hard labor unless you can pay off Magistrate Heckler. I’m betting you can’t.”

The youth’s face twisted in rage as he glared at Zamphini and Sassy. “I’ll get even with you!”

Confused people looked at Zamphini, who shrugged in reply. “I didn’t touch the man.”

“Your stupid puppet tripped me!”

Sassy scooted behind Zamphini and held onto his legs. Zamphini smiled and asked, “Forgive me, but are you saying you were beaten up by a doll?”

The street erupted into laughter. Men and elves pointed at the youth and jeered. Dwarfs shook their heads, and the lone ogre laughed so hard he had to sit down. Goblins came out of the shadows to pelt the youth with horse dung, and Zamphini had to admit they had impressive aim. The youth’s face turned red, and he looked down in shame as the watchmen dragged him away.

Zamphini turned away from the spectacle and back to Crystal. “Good woman, as much as it pains me to say this, the hour grows late and our meeting must end.” He kissed her hand again and smiled. “Don’t hesitate to call upon me if you should be in trouble.”

“You’re a good man,” she told him.

“I am a great man! It says so in my name.”

Gwen stepped out of the store long enough to hug him. “Mister Zamphini, I know I’m asking a lot, but my little brother’s birthday is coming up. Could you come to his party? I saved up some money to pay you.”

“Gwen,” Crystal began, her tone a warning.

“I’d be delighted!” Zamphini interrupted her. “I need to stay in practice, and this is the perfect opportunity. I’ll bring all dozen of my dolls, and they will dance and juggle and tumble for you. You thought there were only eleven of them? I just finished building a brother for Sassy, who wanted another sister, but she’s coming around.”

Sassy stuck out her tongue at her maker, and Gwen laughed. Zamphini clapped a hand over his heart in mock shame. “Sassy, how could you, and in front of friends? But, Gwen, and this is important, you must invite the neighbor children as well. If The Great Zamphini is to work, he must have a proper audience.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Gwen hugged Zamphini so hard the older man gasped as she squeezed the air out of him. It took some effort to disentangle himself and leave.

The sun was setting as Zamphini left Crystal and her daughter. He didn’t go home, instead searching among the stalls. The marketplace emptied quickly as sellers closed their stores and customers hurried home. A few boys ran through the streets and set tallow candles into the lamps hanging from lampposts. Goblins fled to hidden places, a rare move since they were comfortable in the dark. It was a sorry state of affairs that they feared the night as much as men did.

One woman saw Zamphini and hesitated before sealing her home for the night. “I’ve a spare bed you can stay in until dawn.”

“Good woman, there’s no need for such a generous offer.”

“There is! It will be dark soon. Two men on this block suffered savage beatings after nightfall, and three more say they escaped the same fate by the skin of their teeth.”

Zamphini smiled, his expression unforced. “It warms my heart to meet someone so kind in these troubled days. Fear not, for The Great Zamphini is not far from home, and he never travels alone.”

“You’re sure?” the woman asked.

He bowed to her. “Have no fear for my safety.”

The woman looked doubtful, but she closed her door, and there was a thud as she barred it. Zamphini walked down the street and watched it empty. Soon only he and the ogre were left. The ogre showed no fear and walked up to Zamphini.

“Can I help you?” Zamphini asked.

“I heard you went to the village of Rotwood last month.”

“Yes, I did a performance for the mayor. His daughter turned thirteen and he wanted to make it an occasion for the entire village.”

“Rotwood had a problem with devil rats attacking their livestock before your performance. They didn’t after you left.” When Zamphini didn’t respond, the ogre added, “There was supposed to be a whole swarm of them, each one forty pounds of muscle, bone and hate. No one’s seen them for weeks or found a single body. Very tidy of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The ogre smirked. “You’ve been here far too long for a man shopping or visiting friends. I need the money, but it’s a pity I was hired and have to leave before your next performance. I was looking forward to watching you in action.”

“I’m very sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The ogre laughed and gave Zamphini a pat on the back as he left. With the ogre gone Zamphini was alone on the street. He retreated to the mouth of an alley and sat down, resting his staff across his legs and setting his purchases on the ground. Sassy sat across from him and stared at her creator.

Zamphini dug through his pockets until he turned up a glass sphere three inches across and rimmed with brass. He put it back and took out a brass flask. Uncorking it, he beckoned for Sassy to come closer.

“You know, this isn’t such a bad place,” he told her. Sassy took the flask and drank bright green fluid from it. “It could be better. I was thinking that flowerpots are just what Lambsport needs, big ones two feet across and two feet deep. Put them on the second floor of the houses and plant trailing vines in them like nymph tears or dragon blood. They’d be perfect since they’re ever blooming, just pinch off fading flowers and more grow in. Imagine, living displays of color draped over the city.”

Sassy handed back the flask and Zamphini placed it in the alley. “Statues would work, too. Last year I met a family of gnomes who carved stone so beautifully that you’d think the animals and people they made were alive. And they worked cheap! Well, reasonably cheap. The duke could buy a few dozen of those and place them where everyone could see. It would cheer the whole city.”

There was a gulping, sloshing noise in the dark alley. Zamphini reached back and took the now empty flask. He slipped it into one of his pockets and shook his head.

“It would be so easy to make things beautiful. So many people waste their time and money on things that bring others down. Hurtful words, cruel deeds, it doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way. Beauty, laughter, joy, these are what men should bring to the world. You and I do, Sassy. You, me, your brothers and sisters, we make things better. I believe that. I hope you do.”

Sassy walked over and stroked her creator’s arm. He smiled and picked her up. Before he placed her on his shoulder, he said, “You have fuel enough to see you through the night. Come on, Sassy, let’s go.”

Zamphini took up his staff and purchases and walked down the rapidly darkening streets. There were shortcuts, but he picked a leisurely route home that went through some of the worst hit neighborhoods. The half moon provided enough light for him to see where he was going but not enough to notice fine details. He’d gone only half a mile when he heard giggling to his left. It wasn’t far away. There was a tapping sound of steel on stone to his right.

More giggling came from behind him. The tapping came closer. He heard a bang in front of him that sounded like someone dropped a brick off a house. Zamphini continued his slow walk as if he didn’t notice the offending sounds. Darkness grew and shadows spread across the street. At first Zamphini thought the sun had fully set, but he saw a lamp go out, then a second. Whoever was making those noises was snuffing out every source of light.

Zamphini kneeled and set down his purchases, and heard the whoosh of a club as it went over his head. He backed up and dodged another swing, this time from his left. He counted one, two, three, yes, all four of them were here. The gang laughed and screamed obscenities at him. Two swung clubs while the other two tried to grab him. Zamphini ducked and dodged until his back was against a wall. One of his attackers grabbed him, but Zamphini slapped aside his enemy’s hands with a blow from his walking stick.

Zamphini took the glass sphere from his pocket and held it up before pressing a button. Flash! The street lit up bright as day, and the four men fell back covering their eyes. Zamphini had closed his eyes before pressing the button, and wasn’t blinded by the sudden light. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw who he was facing.

“Ah, Jonas Heckler, eldest son of our honorable magistrate, how good to see you again. My how you’re grown. You were but a boy when I performed at your birthday.”

The young men staggered back as if they’d been struck. They tried to cover their faces, but it was too late. Their clothes were expertly tailored cotton and linen, expensive garments indeed, and they wore gold rings. “That must be Elant and Ulum Firefrost with you. This is an odd time for sons of a rich merchant to be out. I must confess I don’t recognize your last friend, but judging by his appearance he’s as wealthy as you are.

“Sloppy,” he scoffed. “I’ve met men and monsters who were feared by kings and commoners both. Terror came off them in waves. This is amateur work, poorly done from the beginning. You sought to herd me away from escape routes and the nearest watch station with silly noises.” Zamphini rolled his eyes. “No style, no respect for the audience, it’s shameful.”

“I told you we’d get caught!” the fourth one shouted.

“Shut up!” Heckler bellowed. His eyes were adjusting to the light, and he dropped his hands from his face.

“It’s a pity you outgrew my dolls,” Zamphini said. “I see your taste in entertainment has grown dark. This is how you amuse yourself these days, attacking strangers on the street at night? Does it make you feel powerful to have a helpless person at your mercy?”

Heckler fully recovered and grinned like a maniac. “Think I’m going to feel bad, old man?”

“One can but hope.”

The fourth member grabbed Heckler by the arm. “My dad will kill me when he finds out.”

Heckler didn’t look bothered. “He’s not going to find out. You’re right, old man, it’s been a blast. We’ve been wolves among sheep, showing them who’s boss, watching them terrified even when it’s daytime. You’ll never know what it’s like to hear grown men beg and cry. We haven’t caught any women yet. It’ll be fun when we do.”

“Idiocy,” Zamphini said. “I wondered why attack a man if not to kill him or rob him of what little he had? But men, or should I say boys, of your position have no need of money. A few copper coins are beneath your notice as are the people living here. And as son of the city’s magistrate you’d know where the city watch would be stationed and could avoid them easily. You shirk real fights and attack the helpless. Does that make you feel strong?”

“We are strong,” Heckler growled. His smile returned, and he looked to his three friends. “The old man plays with dolls, and he thinks he’s better than us. You think we’re scared of being found out? Old man, I’ve been waiting for this.”

“What?” one of his friends shouted.

“Come on, lads, this time we don’t hold back,” Heckler told them. “Kill him and he won’t tell anyone.”

The other three hesitated. Heckler screamed, “You want to get caught? You want your fathers to learn what we’ve done? Forget your fathers, what do you think Duke Edgely will do to us? When has he forgiven anyone? We’ll be conscripted and sent to the front lines! Now man up and put him down like the worm he is!”

That did it. Whatever thin connection they still had to morality melted away. The four had death in their eyes as they closed in on Zamphini.

“Four against one,” Zamphini said. “Not very fair.”

Heckler sneered. “Life’s not fair, fat man. I’m going to smash open your stupid doll and then your head.”

One of the men asked, “What doll? He hasn’t got it with him.”

Another spun around, his eyes darting around the street. “It was here a second ago.”

The light coming off Zamphini’s sphere caught a creature leaping off a shop on the other side of the street. Heckler and his friends screamed as it skidded across the cobblestones, coming to a halt only when its claws caught onto a lamppost. Once it stopped moving they could see it was an enormous cat, but one that had been built rather than born. The monstrosity was six feet long and made of brass, with strangely etched obsidian plates jutting from its armored body. Bright green light poured from its joints and its open jaws, with their terrifying sharp teeth. The creature growled and crouched to jump again.

Bizarre as this was, terrifying as it was, their mouths dropped when they saw Sassy walk out of the shadows and pat the monstrous cat. It purred and rubbed its head against her, proving whose side it was on.

Heckler scrambled back. “What is that?”

“Come now, why so surprised?” Zamphini demanded. “I make dolls that dance and juggle and tumble. Did you think I couldn’t make something bigger, something stronger, something for dealing with monsters?”

“Oh God,” one of them whimpered.

“You parted company with Him long ago,” Zamphini said. He turned off the glowing sphere before putting it away, then pressed a hidden button on his walking stick. There was a hiss as a blade ten inches long slid out of the top, transforming the simple tool into a spear. Lightning crackled over the blade and threw flickering shadows across the street. He spun the weapon over his head and pointed it at Heckler. “Now you deal with me.”

The huge cat growled and raced down the street after its prey. Its claws drew sparks off the cobblestones as it closed the distance. One of the men tried to run while the other three faced Zamphini, now drastically better armed than they were and not looking merciful.

“Wait, we’ve got money!” Heckler shouted. “We can pay you! We can—”

* * * * *

The ogre returned to Lambsport late the following morning, tired but satisfied. He’d finished last night’s job to his client’s satisfaction. That earned enough money to keep him fed for only two weeks, for food prices were high and ogres were famous for their appetites. More importantly he’d proven his strength and courage in battle. Such victories would bring more clients.

He found the market much as he’d left it. Humans shopped and gossiped. Elves tried to tempt men into mortgaging their farms. Dwarfs did brisk business selling steel goods. Goblins made an endless nuisance of themselves yet always managed to escape punishment. Small and weak as they were, the ogre admired their ability to survive.

As always the humans talked constantly, an annoying trait, but one the ogre could endure. It seemed there had been shouting the night before. That generally meant a farmer or storekeeper had suffered a savage beating, but the morning brought no one in need of a healer’s aid, nor a lucky soul who’d escaped his foes unharmed.

The ogre had long ago staked a claim to his spot under an arch where he was out of the sun for most of the day. Before he took his place and waited for clients to bring him their problems, he studied the market and surrounding streets in great detail. There was no damage to houses or stores. He found no suspicious debris such as bits of clothing or drops of dried blood. In fact, the only sign anything had happened last night were scratches on some cobblestones and a lamppost.

The ogre smiled, showing off his thick, yellow teeth. “Tidy as always, Zamphini

Ocean waves tossed the merchant ship Dawn’s Hope back and forth so much that most of the human passengers were violently ill, which normally would have cheered up Brody immensely. Not that he was a cruel goblin, but the men and women onboard had been constantly insulting him during the voyage. This came close to evening the scales. But seeing men who’d mocked him fighting to get to the railings before their lunches made a return appearance offered Brody no mirth after what he’d seen outside Ballop’s Hole.

Julius Craton walked up alongside Brody by the ship’s mast. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll manage.” The blue skinned goblin shivered, not from the cold but from the events he’d seen.

“I understand why you’re upset,” Julius said. “The fight was harder and more brutal than I’ve experienced in a while.”

“You had those revolutionaries on the ropes from the beginning. Why didn’t they surrender?”

Julius gazed out over the rough sea. Tall, strong, handsome, the hero was a sight to behold, but he looked troubled. “Desperate men make poor decisions. They sacrificed so much, even their lives, because they saw no hope for themselves. I’m surprised we took as many prisoners as we did.”

The battle that troubled both man and goblin had occurred outside the town of Ballop’s Hole, a small fishing community known for flooding. Fifteen years earlier, Julius and other members of the Guild of Heroes had helped save the town and surrounding settlements from a small army of bandits that were looting the countryside.

Except those men had been revolutionaries, not bandits, drawn from the poor and desperate of their kingdom. They’d envisioned a better future for themselves, which sadly revolved around leaving others with no future at all. Another generation of the disaffected and dissatisfied had risen up to take their place, and it had fallen on Julius to help the authorities put it down before it destroyed communities like Ballop’s Hole. The second generation of revolutionaries had been fewer, less organized and worse trained than their predecessors, but the fight had still lasted twenty days and been messy.

And after all that, Julius and Brody were on their way to another fight.

“I’m rethinking your line of work,” Brody told his friend.

The ship hit a large wave, rising and falling hard. Julius put a hand on the mast to steady himself before answering. “It would have been worse without us.”

“But you saved the same town twice.”

Julius frowned. “Some days you have to settle for partial victories. There’s a town in the Raushtad Mountains that specializes in slave trading, black marketeering, brewing poison and selling dangerous magic. It’s a nightmare. The town has been destroyed four times that I know of, once by me, but evil men keep rebuilding it because there’s money to be made.”

“And we’re heading after some gang called the Red Hand,” Brody said. “Do we have friends to turn to for this one, or is this one of those situations where the locals don’t like you?”

“I’m not sure,” Julius admitted. “The king’s knights had a feud with me, for reasons I never understood. I’m told their king put an end to that. There was another group there I wasn’t on good terms with, The Ladies Gardening Guild, but the assassination threat is over.”

Goblins were used to confusion and nonsense, and were the leading source of both on Other Place, but that statement was so odd it gave Brody pause. “The Ladies Gardening Guild hired assassins to kill you?”

“They’re more dangerous and deranged than they sound. The Ladies Gardening Guild is the only all woman group in existence where every man gets a vote. I insulted their leader when I turned down a marriage proposal by her eldest daughter, who had an unhealthy interest in taxidermy squirrels. And they didn’t so much hire assassins as send angry guild members after me. Thankfully their leader was deposed in a violent coup.”

Brody put a hand over his face. “Leave jokes to the professionals.”

“Jokes?”

Their conversation was interrupted when a well-dressed merchant staggered over and pointed a finger at Brody. “You, you swine, I know you’re behind this plague.”

“Sir, you’re seasick, nothing more,” Julius said. “It will pass once you’re on land.”

“Don’t you tell me what my problem is!” the merchant shouted. Equally sick passengers looked up from the railing at the commotion. “I’ve traveled by sea for years and never been ill. Your goblin poisoned the food!”

Julius stepped in front of the merchant. “He was never near the kitchen or store room, and he had no access to your meals. Brody only brought his swimming paddles and the clothes he’s wearing, and has no place he could hide poison.”

The merchant went around Julius to point at Brody again. “You did this, you!”

Brody tended to avoid confrontations, a healthy choice for a goblin three feet tall and not too strong, but he had limits. He stared back at the merchant and began to sway opposite to the rocking ship. The effect was that he seemed to stand still while everything around him moved.

“You’re not feeling well because of the ship,” Brody said as he swayed. “I don’t blame you, the way it’s going back and forth, up and down, churning and churning and churning.”

“I,” the man began, but he stopped as his face turned pale and he ran for the railing.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Julius said.

“I’m in a bad mood.”

Captain Yeaver, the brightly dressed owner of Dawn’s Hope, walked up to Julius and nodded. “We’ll reach Oceanview Kingdom’s capital Sunset City by nightfall. Sir, it’s been a pleasure having you aboard. Our journey has been peaceful, aside from complaining passengers, but I’m always happy to have a man good with a sword when these seas have known bad times.”

“I’m grateful you got us here as quickly as you did,” Julius replied.

“We’d be there sooner except the winds are dying down.” Captain Yeaver looked to the northwest, where lights were visible in the growing night. “You, ah, were very eager to get here fast, sir. Pardon my saying so, you tend to go places others would avoid, but I’ve heard of no trouble in Sunset City. Should I be worried about entering the port?”

“There’s a gang called the Red Hand in Sunset City. They settled here after other gangs drove them from Nolod. The king wants help dealing with them. I don’t expect too much trouble since they’ve already been beaten once and don’t know I’m coming, but you may want to keep your men alert and armed.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Captain Yeaver said, and tipped his hat to Julius. “I’ve heard of the Red Hand. They’re a nasty lot. Hopefully they’ll give up or move on rather than fight. If fortune favors us, you’ll be bored and I’ll have cargo to transport instead of men.”

Sea travel was still picking up long after the threat of the Pirate Lords was over. Dawn’s Hope was a medium sized ship capable of carrying tons of goods, but the ship’s hold was only half filled with bales of cotton. Captain Yeaver made up the difference on this trip by carrying paying passengers like Julius and Brody. It kept his books in the black, if only just, and passengers created their own problems.

“Seaman, wash those planks,” Captain Yeaver ordered.

“I did it ten minutes ago,” one of his crew protested. Then he looked down and saw that the merchant who’d accused Brody of poisoning the food hadn’t reached the railing in time. “Curse our luck. I’ll get the mop.”

Night was falling as Dawn’s Hope reached the port of Sunset City. It was a large city, prosperous and built to survive the worst the sea could throw at it. Buildings were made of brick and in good condition, with a high sea wall to take the brunt of the ocean’s fury. The city was lit with oil lanterns mounted on stone pedestals scattered across the streets. Captain Yeaver eased his ship into an open berth on a short dock before lowering a gangplank. His passengers wasted no time in departing, while Julius and Brody went ashore with the captain.

“The harbormaster is going to want a share of those men’s passage fee,” Captain Yeaver said. He sounded resigned to losing what little money he had. “Still, I hear merchants here need help moving goods to the nearest market. With luck I’ll be gone by noon tomorrow.”

Brody studied the dock and frowned. It was nearly night, when men usually went to sleep, but he’d expected someone on the docks to demand taxes and tolls. “Where is the guy?”

Captain Yeaver looked across the dock. “I don’t know. A harbormaster always meets my ship the moment we dock.”

Julius put a hand on his sword, Sworn Doom. “I was supposed to be met by the king’s representative when I arrived, night or day. I don’t see inspectors to check incoming ships for contraband, either.”

“We are running late because of those revolutionaries,” Brody reminded him.

“I wrote ahead to the king to explain why we were delayed and when to expect us,” Julius replied.

Brody listened intently for snaps, breathes, jingles or any other out of place sound that might suggest trouble. The problem was there were too many noises with the waves crashing and an indistinct rumbling from Sunset City.

A crewman from Dawn’s Hope called out, “Captain, should we unload our cargo?”

Captain Yeaver took a step back toward his ship. “Not yet. I don’t like the smell of this. Sir Craton, perhaps we should hold tight here until—”

Screams tore through the night air as the passengers ran back to Dawn’s Hope and raced back up the gangplank. The crowd nearly trampled Julius, Brody and Captain Yeaver. Seconds later they saw the reason for the panicked flight, as dozens of armed men ran for the ship.

A spearman with a red hand painted on his wood shield pointed at Julius and shouted, “There he is! Kill him!”

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Brody told Julius.

“Get back on the ship and raise the gangplank,” Julius ordered, his voice calm and collected. He drew his sword, and Sworn Doom glowed like a lantern. Captain Yeaver ran for his ship, but more armed men burst from concealment and blocked his way.

Brody had too much experience dealing with armed men, and as their attackers charged he had a moment to study them. Surprisingly, he wasn’t impressed. Most of them had no armor except for a few with leather breastplates and helmets. Their weapons were daggers, lassos, hatchets and staffs that had legitimate purposes and could be explained away to nosy authorities. Only a few had proper weapons like spears, and even those looked handmade. The men came in a disorganized rush rather than a formation.

Spearmen in front of the mob tried to impale Julius. He swung Sworn Doom and hacked off the spear points. A few men tried to tackle Julius, but he grabbed one with his free hand and shoved him into the bay. Brody tripped another, and he and Captain Yeaver rolled the man into the water. Ten men tried to overwhelm Julius and might have done so, except crewmen aboard Dawn’s Hope threw bales of cotton overboard onto them. Their attackers cried out in surprise as many of them were knocked down. The few still standing had to go around fallen comrades or jump over them.

“Take him down!” the now disarmed spearman shouted while staying back. “Hurry!”

Armed crewmen from Dawn’s Hope ran down the gangplank to support their captain. One man tossed Captain Yeaver a sword, which he snatched out of the air. “Well done, boys, and not a single bale went into the drink.”

“You sound surprised, captain,” one of his men said in a pained tone. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this.”

The ragged attackers pulled back, dragging their wounded away. They retreated only as far as the nearest street corner before stopping to dress their wounds. They still outnumbered Julius and the crew of Dawn’s Hope, but made no move to attack.

“Get your cargo back onboard and prepare to leave,” Julius said. He watched the Red Hand and pointed at one of them. “That one looks like the leader. He’s got them holding their ground, not fighting or running. What are they waiting for?”

Just then a second group as large as the first ran onto the streets near the port. The two groups merged together and pushed forward with spearmen leading the charge and archers behind them.

“Ah, reinforcements,” Julius said. “Everyone board the ship.”

Captain Yeaver rolled a cotton bale up the gangplank. “Faster, men!”

Dozens of Red Hand killers ran screaming down the dock. Julius stood guard at the gangplank as the last man of Dawn’s Hope boarded the ship. Terrified passengers begged them to leave as the howling mob neared. Julius looked up and saw the ship’s sails were slack with no wind left to fill them. The ship was going nowhere. His face was expressionless as he swung Sworn Doom at the gangplank and sliced it in two. Both halves fell into the water as Julius sheathed his sword and turned to leave. He was surprised to see Brody alongside him.

Julius ran as fast as he could in his armor and shouted, “Why aren’t you on the ship?”

“If I was going to bail out on you, I’d have done it months ago.”

Julius and Brody fled for their lives with the Red Hand steps behind them. The pair went down an alley and found it nearly blocked by junk. Brody went first and Julius followed, pulled down stacks of driftwood, scrap lumber and other garbage to slow their pursuers. They escaped to the sound of men cursing as they tried to force their way through the junk.

Julius led them through the port until they stopped at a crossroads. He turned to Brody and said, “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I really did want you on that ship.”

Brody gasped for breath. “The ship you chose not to board?”

“The spearman leading the first group said, ‘kill him’, not kill them. They want me, not the ship or anyone else on Dawn’s Hope. I destroyed the gangplank so the Red Hand couldn’t board it. I didn’t go on myself because the ship can barely move until the winds pick up. The Red Hand could throw lit torches on it and burn it to the waterline, and there would be nothing I could do to stop them. They’re safer without me.”

Pointing back at the harbor, Brody said, “So you save them and pretty much doom yourself! Julius, you keep risking your life like this and sooner or later you’re going to lose it. I don’t want that to happen. Lots of people don’t want that to happen, including a shocking number of men with marriageable daughters. Can we please find a way out of this that doesn’t involve you dying?”

Julius just looked at Brody for a moment without speaking. He finally looked around and said, “That would be nice. For now we’re on hostile ground. We can find help at the city’s garrison or nearest watch house, but that’s risky. I’ve been here before so I know the city’s layout, but we have to assume the Red Hand does, too.”

“So they’ll have ambushes ready if we go for help,” Brody said. “Since we’re on the topic, where are Sunset City’s soldiers and watchmen?”

“That’s a good question.”

They used their brief respite to study their surroundings. There were plenty of houses and shops on the street, their doors locked and the windows barred and shuttered. No one was on the roads so late at night, which was normal, but they still heard noises. Brody strained to figure out what they were, and frowned when he did.

“There’s fighting north of here,” he said.

“That’s where the city garrison is located. It looks like the Red Hand is mounting multiple attacks across Sunset City, at the docks to intercept me and at the garrison. I’m surprised they’d attack soldiers. Most gangs aren’t that aggressive.”

Brody sniffed the air and frowned. “I smell smoke, too much to be kitchen fires. I think they’re burning down buildings the way you thought they might burn the ship. This is bad. Where do we go?”

“If we go to neighboring watch houses we can gather watchmen and head for the garrison. We’ll attack the Red Hand from two sides and destroy them, then deal with the group at the bay…which just caught up with us.”

Red Hand killers ran out onto the street a block away. They struggled to see under the dim light of lanterns posted on the street, but still spotted Julius. The spearman from before (now armed with a club), pointed his weapon at Julius as yelled, “After him! A hundred rils for the man who takes his head!”

Julius grabbed Brody’s hand and ran. “Come on, the nearest watch house is this way.”

“What’s a ril?” Brody asked as an arrow arced high over them and broke against a brick wall.

“Local currency,” Julius explained as they turned a corner. “It’s worth about a third of a guilder.”

A hatchet flew past Brody and clattered across the cobblestone road. “The last guys who wanted you dead were paying ten times that.”

A Red Hand killer armed with a club lunged out of an alley and swung at Julius’ head. Julius grabbed the man by the wrist and spun him around, sending him face first into the nearest brick wall. “Prices on my head went down. I blame the weak economy.”

Julius and Brody kept running with the baying mob of killers in hot pursuit. They lost them briefly when they went into the alleys again, but the Red Hand was expecting the move and sent scouts after them. The few minutes the move bought them was enough to reach a burned out stone building still smoking. The furniture and wood support beams were nothing more than hot cinders.

“Let me guess, watch house,” Brody said.

“One of many.” Julius peered into the smoldering interior and said, “I don’t see bodies. Looks like the watchmen escaped before it was burned. Brody, this is a takeover attempt. The Red Hand is attacking anyone who could oppose them, but from what the king told me the Red Hand numbers only five hundred men. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a move this bold.”

“Or stupid.”

A Red Hand killer with a hatchet ran out onto the street. He charged Julius and screamed, “He’s here!”

Brody was used to being ignored and happily took advantage of the killer’s mistake. He tripped the man and sent him flat on his belly. Julius stomped on the man’s hand, forcing him to let go of the hatch, which Brody grabbed before the man could recover. Unarmed, the man snarled as he scrambled to his feet and fell back. “I found him!”

“There’s another watch house a few blocks away,” Julius said as he and Brody fled. “It might be burned down as well, but I don’t see a better choice.”

A door opened as Julius and Brody came near, and a frightened looking man peered out. Julius shouted, “Stay inside!”, and the man slammed the door shut.

Two men wearing red helmets came out of an alley ahead of Julius and Brody. The first man drew a sword while the second raised a horn to his lips. Julius rammed the first man and knocked him over while Brody threw his stolen hatchet at the second man, shattering the horn before he could blow it. The second man pulled a knife from a belt sheath, but Brody grabbed the man’s belt and yanked down hard, pulling his pants around his ankles and showing the man’s red and white poke-a-dot underwear. Julius pushed the man over and led Brody away.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that,” Julius said.

“The one I got will need more time to get up.”

“I know, but—”

“It’s him!” The Red Hand finally caught up to them in numbers large enough to fill the streets. They formed crude ranks around Julius and Brody, blocking all exits as still more men joined them. Julius drew his sword and backed up against a wall. The odds were badly against him, but Julius had defeated so many threats that the Red Hand wasn’t guaranteed victory.

“If you do this, not many of you will see the morning,” Julius warned.

A man with a bandaged face stepped into the front of the Red Hand. “We’re doing this, and we’ll toast our victory over your dead body.”

Sworn Doom snicker at them. “Better men than you have tried. We’ll accept surrender from however many of you survives the first two minutes.”

The crowd around Julius and Brody raised their weapons and howled like demons as they charged. They’d gone only three steps before a carriage pulled by four horses raced down the street, and their howls turned into screams of terror. Men scattered, many dropping their weapons as they scrambled out of the way. The carriage went right in front of Julius, slowing down just long enough for a young man dressed in gray to reach out his hand. Julius sheathed his sword, grabbed the offered hand with his right hand and taking Brody’s hand with the other. He vaulted into the carriage and pulled Brody along. The carriage rocketed down the road, nearly running over a handful of men as it escaped.

“Sir, it’s such an honor!” the gray clad youth shouted over the sound of the carriage clattering over the cobblestone road. He was one of many passengers already in the carriage. “Kadid Lan, sir, wizard of earth magic, and a big fan! Officer Dalton is driving the carriage.”

“A pleasure, sir!” the watchman called back. Julius collapsed into a seat, only to have a large dog sit on his lap. “Shep, no!”

Kadid tried to pull the dog off and failed. “And, uh, the goblin is—”

“Habbly, yes, we’ve met,” Julius replied. He shook the goblin’s hand and waved to Brody. “It’s a bit of a reunion. What brings you here?”

“Kadid and I came to save you,” Habbly said. The carriage moved so fast that the goblin’s long braid whipped behind him. He held up two handfuls of papers, offering one to Julius and another to Brody. “Someone’s been plastering posters across entire kingdoms. They tell secrets, like that you were on your way here to fight the Red Hand. We saw them and came to warn you, but the Red Hand saw them, too.”

Julius studied one of the paper and scowled. “Who wrote this?”

“We don’t know, sir,” Kadid said. He picked up an elaborate staff off a seat and waved it at the papers. “It’s been happening for months with stories about Ocean Kingdom, Kaleoth, Ket and independent cities like Nolod. So far no mention of the Land of the Nine Dukes, but give it time.”

Brody looked at his copies and frowned. It was hard to see the flowery blue writing under such poor light, but there was another reason for his trouble. The strange markings made no sense to him because he couldn’t read a word. He’d lived most of his life alone and never learned the skill. Whatever terrible secrets were contained on these pages were lost on him.

“The Red Hand got this information before we did!” Officer Dalton shouted over his shoulder. He slowed the carriage as it took a wide turn at a corner. “They’ve mounted surprise attacks on watch houses across the city, hitting us before we could hit them. We’ve fallen back to the city’s garrison and are organizing a counterattack. Kadid and Habbly found me fighting my way to the garrison and told me you were coming. The papers say you were going to help us beat the Red Hand, so thought you could save the city. Shep, no, stop licking the man’s face!”

“How far have they spread across the city?” Julius asked as he wrapped an arm around the dog’s neck and pulled it into his lap.

Kadid replied, “We’ve run into groups of them every few blocks. Watch houses across the city have been destroyed, but a few are holding out with help from citizens.”

Brody pointed up and shouted, “More are coming!”

The others looked up and saw Red Hand men running across the roofs of houses on the streets. Two of them threw spears and missed. Another drew a dagger and jumped screaming from rooftops for the carriage. His monstrous howl became a terrified cry of panic as he fell eight feet short of his target and hit the road with a thud.

“He didn’t time that well,” Habby said.

“No, he really didn’t,” Julius agreed. “Officer Dalton, how fast can you get us to the garrison?”

“We’re two blocks away,” Dalton called back.

Officer Dalton drove the carriage around another corner onto a large, open courtyard. Ahead of them was a large two story building manned by watchmen and average citizens. These men held the windows and doors against dozens of Red Hand killers. The unruly mob rushed the building and was pushed back by an equally determined resistance. Dalton slowed the carriage, but it still moved fast enough that the Red Hand barely had enough time to avoid being run over. A wooden double door twenty feet across opened just long enough for the carriage to enter before slamming closed.

Julius jumped off the carriage and helped the others down. “Who’s in charge of this garrison?”

A watchman with gold medals on his chest ran over and saluted. “Sir Craton, I’m the ranking officer. We’ve been hit hard, but the city watch still stands. Enemy attacks have been going on for hours, and their strength is flagging. We’ll be able to take the offensive soon and rout them.”

“They’ll fall back the moment they realize they’re lost the advantage, scattering across the city or fleeing it entirely,” Julius responded. “We have to strike before they run or we’ll need weeks to track them all down.”

“The men are tired, sir,” the officer replied. “They can’t take a prolonged fight without rest and reinforcements.”

Julius looked at the nearest window, where frightened men armed with spears prepared for another enemy attack. “They need a quick victory that won’t cost them. Buildings in Sunset City are all made of brick, little risk of a fire spreading. Officer, I saw lanterns across the city. Do you have lamp oil on hand?”

“Well, uh, yes sir, plenty of it,” the officer stammered.

Brody had spent enough time with Julius to know how his mind worked. Panicked, he pushed his way past the others and pleaded, “Julius, no, you can’t.”

For a moment Julius’ face looked pained. “Many will suffer far worse if I don’t.”

Puzzled, Kadid asked Officer Dalton, “What are they talking about?”

Dalton struggled to keep his dog under control. “Sorry, no idea.”

“At least give them a chance,” Brody begged.

* * * * *

More members of the Red Hand poured into the courtyard around the city garrison, including a man swathed in bandages. Others saluted when he neared.

“Staback,” one of them said. “We’ve got a battering ram ready to take down the door. Say the word and we do it.”

Staback was still hurting from when a swarm of bees had stung him weeks earlier. The pain would make most men timid, but instead it drove him to a hatefulness rarely seen. He pointed a hatchet at the assembled men and said, “We’ve enough men to do the job. Bring those doors down. Leave no one alive.”

With the order given, twenty men picked up a mast they’d stolen from the docks and charged the doors. Dozens more men followed them, screaming and waving their weapons. The battering ram struck the door with a boom that echoed throughout the city. Red Hand killers roared in approval as they struck at men guarding the windows. They pulled the battering ram back for another blow when civilians poured lamp oil out of the garrison second story windows.

Men fell cursing as the oil splattered over them. The ones holding the battering ram couldn’t keep their footing and fell. They were still yelling and cursing when the double doors opened and Julius stepped out with a lit torch. The men frozen in terror.

“Hello. I’m Julius Craton, and before you ask, yes, I will do it.

“I’ve fought men like you for more than half my life. It’s kind of sad how many people would kill their fellow man as if they were less than animals. I’ve always found it troubling that of all the ways I have to deal with threats like you, violence seems to be the only way that works. I have to be like you to stop you. That bothers me. It bothers people I care about. I’m tired of it.

“So, this is how we’re doing this. A person better than any of you asked me to offer mercy, so I’m giving you a chance. Surrender and accept full punishment under the law for your crimes. I have received the garrison commander’s word of honor that none of you will face torture or the death penalty. You’ll live and make restitution for your actions.”

Julius held his torch high above his head. Light from the torch made the oil on the men glisten. “Throw down your weapons or I throw down mine. I’d rather not do it, but like I said, I will do it.”

Staback made a guttural, growling noise as he tried to rise to his feet. “I won’t—”

His own men tackled Staback and gagged him. A lone man dropped his spear at Julius’ feet, then another and a third. Bit by bit the Red Hands disarmed, and watchmen took them prisoner. One by one they were led away to the garrison’s cells.

“Sir, that was amazing,” Officer Dalton said. “I’d have never thought of using our oil supply as a weapon.”

“Then you’re a better man than I am,” Julius said. “Some of the Red Hand who attacked us at the bay aren’t here. We didn’t get them all and have to comb the city for the rest before they regroup or flee to cause trouble elsewhere.”

Kadid Lan walked up with a stack of posters written with blue ink. “What do we do about these? Whoever is writing them nearly got you killed, and they’re still writing more.”

Brody took a poster from Kadid and studied it. He couldn’t read the words, but the paper felt silky in his fingers, not rough like cheap paper. The writing was smooth and flowery, and he’d never seen anyone write with blue ink. So few clues wasn’t much to work with, but it was a start. Brody’s mind raced as he tried to figure out the puzzle. It was a tall task for a small goblin who couldn’t read, but one thing he’d learned by traveling with Julius was that no problem was impossible if you had help, and he’d met people who could help.

“I know guys who can find the authors,” Brody told the others. It was an inspirational promise of hope totally ruined when Officer Dalton’s dog Shep tackled the little goblin and licked his face.

King Tyros stood in his bedchambers as he put on his belt and best cape over his silk clothes. Dressing up like this annoyed him. Simple, functional, that was what was needed. Trying to fit the expectation of others wasted time and money. In theory the men and women of his castle, his kingdom, should adjust their behavior to match his.

That was not the way the world worked, though. So much of being a king was looking the part, acting like others expected a king to behave. He’d made efforts to introduce changes in uniforms and behaviors, cutting down on costs and needless ceremonies, but they kept creeping back in. Commoners, artisans and nobles all wanted life to be as it always had been.

Amvicta joined him in dressed in her finest gown and jewels. She looked pleased with herself, so there might be fewer incidents at court caused by her sharp tongue. “Everyone’s ready.”

“A moment longer,” he told her as he put on his crown. Once he’d owned several crowns, but during the civil war he’d sold the less valuable ones to pay his soldiers. Other kings would find that galling, a diminishment of their authority. To Tyros it had been a move long coming. Luxury was waste in his eyes.

Tyros and Amvicta left their room and headed for the courtyard. Guards followed them as always, but there were more defenders. Tyros had increased the castle’s defenses as of late in case his newest followers proved ambitious. These guardians followed at a distance, slipping into this world and back to their own so quickly few noticed them and none got a clear look. One guard glanced to his left and paused, catching the barest glimpse of his mystic defenders, then resumed marching.

“My father sent words of encouragement for this mission,” Amvicta said proudly.

“Palan is restoring a castle, not going on a quest,” Tyros grumbled. Meadowland was filled with ruined castles awaiting restoration or demolition. Fixing one should prove no difficulty, but Palan would no doubt make it harder than it had to be.

“Simple tasks must come before difficult ones. Giving your son a chance to prove himself has been a long time coming. He won’t disappoint you.”

“That would be a welcome change,” Tyros replied, earning him a scowl from Amvicta.

He didn’t care. His wife and sons had proven massive disappointments at every turn. That his father-in-law felt the need to speak on Palan’s behalf was all the more galling. Amvicta’s family constantly overstepped their bounds, acting as kings in his kingdom, offering counsel, as if they had a right to, and constantly seeking advantages at Tyros’ expense.

They reached a point where the castle corridor branched, and Tyros turned left. Amvicta grabbed his arm and demanded, “Where are you going?”

“To see to military matters.”

She scowled. “That revolting wizard? Your son and important men await you.”

“One of the advantages of being king is no one is more important than I am.”

Tyros marched on followed by his wife and guards. He reached the guest bedrooms where the Inspired wizard waited for him. Tyros had accepted the man as a necessary evil, something life was filled with, but he’d never trusted him. This room was well away from sensitive areas of the castle, and nearby servants were in fact highly trained and well-armed agents ready to kill the wizard should he step out of bounds.

“Wait here,” Tyros said, and entered the room. He didn’t knock. This castle and kingdom were his, and he could go where he pleased when he pleased without asking permission. Once inside he shut the door. Best if no witnesses were present for what was about to be said.

The room was simple, with a bed, table and chair. The man within was anything but. Hyress of the Inspired wore the white and black robes common to his order of wizards, and carried an oak staff. He had a book on the bed filled with notes in a language Tyros had never seen and diagrams the meaning of which Tyros couldn’t even guess at. Hyress was a young man of perhaps twenty years, his brown hair cut short, his features almost boyish, but his expression was a riddle. He always looked curious, like the world was somehow new no matter how simple a thing he looked at. Tyros expected the wizard to be furious at his sudden entrance, maybe afraid, but Hyress was unphased.

“You failed me.” As starting moves it was brutal and likely to cause discontent, but Tyros liked his enemies unsettled.

“The plan was high risk and high reward when I proposed it,” Hyress replied casually. “Failure was not merely possible but likely. Nothing of value was lost in the attempt, and more missions are planned for this week, next week and the week after that. Bascal will fall under the volume of assaults.”

“A bold claim when you have only five undertrained, underpowered wizards. Your order is known for the number of wizards they can send, if not their strength. When will more come?”

That was another calculated insult. Tyros knew the best way to beat an enemy was to push them hard and often, and Hyress was an enemy despite their current arrangement. Anyone fool enough to think they could take over the world was a madman, or a deadly threat.

“The Inspired have committed more wizards to your cause than they have anywhere else on Other Place,” Hyress said calmly. “If you want more then more must be offered, or at least paid. We have received nothing we asked as payment for our services.”

“You ask for garbage!” Tyros yelled. He wasn’t used to being unsure about someone, but he couldn’t make sense of Hyress. He’d expected Hyress to demand gold, jewels, noble titles. Instead the wizard had asked to be paid with worthless refuse that even a beggar would ignore. Why? No explanation had been offered.

“It is of value to us,” Hyress replied. “As our prize means nothing to you, all the more reason to give it to us.”

Tyros held his ground a moment longer. He despised Hyress and men like him. The world was filled with opportunists, graverobbers and scavengers looking for scraps during times of crisis. And curse him for even thinking it, Tyros needed this vulture of a man.

He needed victories. The war was progressing poorly. Kaleoth was untouched, safe behind Racehorse River. Bascal had closed the main pass into their kingdom. His armies struggled to open it and had lost two major assets sent to assist the effort. Only in Zentrix did his armies advance now that the ground was dry enough to walk on rather than sink in, but their losses were heavy and morale was low. Tyros needed to reverse this trend, and Hyress might be able to do it.

“How soon after payment can your fellow wizards come, and how many of them will arrive?” Tyros asked through clenched teeth.

“If full payment is made, I can have eight additional wizards in Meadowland within ten days. They will bring summoned monsters, magic weapons and funds sufficient to play an active role in your war for an entire year.”

Tyros reached for the doorknob. “You will have it by day’s end. You disappointed me once, wizard. Those who make a habit of failure suffer for it.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“A question first. All the Inspired Wizards I’ve met wear uniforms of black and white. What is the significance of it?”

“White is commonly associated with goodness and black with evil,” Hyress replied. “We wear a blend of both white and black to show how we are above such thinking. Good and evil are childish concepts. There is only success or failure. Everything else is noise.”

“An interesting point of view,” Tyros told the wizard. It was one he agreed with. He’d survived a civil war, countless assassination attempts and constant challenges to his authority. He’d done what had to be done to survive. Good like the Brotherhood of the Righteous championed was weakness cloaked in dogma. The evil of bandits and monsters was needlessly destructive and heedless of the future. A king had to be decisive, brutal, confident and plan for the future.

That he agreed with Hyress sealed the man’s fate. Hyress would be equally decisive, brutal and confident, and he planned for a future where he ruled. If the time came when he thought he could overthrow Tyros, he would do so without pity or gloating. That meant the Inspired wizard and his fellow practitioners of the dark arts would have to die. Tyros would squeeze all the use he could from them and put them to death.

It was unfortunate, even a touch wasteful, but that was life.

Tyros rejoined his wife and guards outside the guest room and closed the door behind him. Amvicta gave him a sour look before complaining, “I don’t know what you tolerate that man in our castle.”

“Even serpents have their uses.” It was lost on her how that statement applied to her as much as the wizard. She would doubtless press her point, so to head off that argument he said, “With that settled we can move on to Palan. Restoring Grist Castle will take the rest of the year. If Palan succeeds there are other projects I can assign him.”

“Military tasks?” she asked hopefully.

Tyros would sooner put a goblin in charge of his armies than his spineless son. “Construction for now, military if he is and continues to be successful. As for Eskas—”

“We’re not talking about Eskas,” Amvicta interrupted. Her eldest son was no longer allowed in the castle, and she had no desire to see new punishments placed on his shoulders.

“You’re right. Palan has earned a chance to prove himself. We’ll see him on his way.”

They walked on in silence. The more Tyros thought about it, sending Palan on this task was a good idea. Palan had more failings than were acceptable in a man, much less a ruler, but he was clever. Rather like Mastram that way, always thinking. The boy might see what his father was planning. That wouldn’t do. Better to send him far from court, and when the time came deal with him alone.

They reached the courtyard to find Tyros’ court officials and resident nobles in attendance. It has a hot, sunny day, and the guests were sweating. Servants had hung pennants and banners to commemorate this dull event, and tables filled with refreshments had been set on the grassy field. Tyros and Amvicta stood on a low wood platform well away from their followers. Palan wasn’t present, waiting to be summoned and awarded royal orders.

“Announce the prince,” Tyros told an attendant. The man blew a horn, and Palan entered the courtyard from a gate opposite Tyros. He wore armor, as if he expected to fight, and was followed by a procession of soldiers. Those men were in their thirties and forties, competent but well past their prime. That met with Tyros’ approval. They could do the job asked of them without their absence being a drain on the military. Following them were hundreds of boys and young men.

Officially those callow youths were guests of the crown, to be protected and educated at royal expense. That lie fooled no one. They were the eldest sons of mayors from across Meadowland, men Tyros wasn’t entirely satisfied with. Their fathers had served him competently but without the enthusiasm. Replacing so many mayors would cause chaos and convince his officials they had to fear their king. This ensured the mayors’ cooperation, and served as a reminder to everyone there was a price to be paid for any slackening of support.

Palan bowed. “My father and my king, I come to serve.”

“Rise, Prince Palan,” Tyros replied. His son stood up straight. “You have sought royal command to rebuild Grist Castle for the good of Meadowland. This is granted.”

“I shall bring honor to your name and to Meadowland,” Palan replied.

That was doubtful, but Tyros went through with this tedious ceremony and handed a rolled up vellum scroll to his son. Palan accepted it and saluted, and the men with him saluted. Normally there would be a celebration or feast to commemorate assigning a prince a mission for the crown, but this deed was so minor Tyros had ordered it canceled. Palan hadn’t refused the move, some slight sign of maturity on his part. With this foolishness done, Palan led his meager force away, and good riddance to them all.

“You did the right thing,” Amvicta whispered to him.

Tyros watched his son leave. The boy was a waste, trash, a coddled child grown into a worthless man. When he died it would be no loss to Tyros or Meadowland, and that day was coming ever closer.

Tyros turned to his wife. “It was the logical choice.”

* * * * *

Palan stopped his small command late that night, far from the nearest house or witness. He had four hundred hostages, fifty older soldiers to guard them, ten wagons pulled by oxen, food and construction tools. It was enough.

Morale was high. Palan had hand-picked the soldiers, making sure these men knew the real meaning of honor and loyalty. They had served the crown long enough to see brutality masked as necessity, and been sickened by it. The hostages were in good cheer now that they were out of the capital. They knew some of Palan’s intensions and realized they were far from safety, but every step brought them closer to family and freedom. His soldiers fed them generous portions. They’d need their strength for the days ahead, and he’d made arrangements for more supplies along the way.

Palan sat at the edge of the camp away from the others. This small, desperate force under his command was in great danger. He knew this was their only chance, his only chance, but that was little consolation. If caught they would all be put to death. He’d made every effort to avoid such a fate. For months he’d been sending letters by means of discrete couriers to men and women he knew he could count on. He had friends in the kingdom who would risk their lives for him, if he could reach them. He’d also secured weapons and riches his father didn’t know about that could turn the tables in their favor. Would it be enough?

There was a rustling in the tall grass just off the road, and a horde of goblins emerged from cover. Some he recognized, others not. Thipins and Campots came up to him and shook his hand.

“You did it,” Thipins said proudly.

“The journey’s just begun, and father will have men watching us,” Palan told his friend.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them,” Campots promised. “We brought friends.”

“So I see.” Palan studied the newcomers. Most were typical goblins, dirty, smelly, dressed in rags, but two were different. One wore a strange white coat and carried a finely made leather bag. The second was even stranger, wearing black and green clothing in the same style of the King of the Goblins, and armed with a wood club carved to look like a scepter.

“It’s good to have friends,” he told the goblins. “Until you came, I’d never had one.”

“It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” Thipins promised. He gave Palan a reassuring pat on the arm. “You won’t be exiled like your half-brother. We won’t let that happen.”